Libera Me
by DrizztsAngel
Summary: Ciel wants to know about Sebastian's former contracts.  Sebastian relates the tale of the contract that affected him the most.  Not yaoi.  Ciel x Lizzie if you squint.  Sebastian x OC.  Rated M for safety.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own Black Butler /Kuroshitsuji/ in any way, shape, or form. I'm merely taking some of them out and playing with them for a bit, then I swear I'll put them back.

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><p><em><strong>Libera Me<strong>_

"Sebastian?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Is there any other-worldly laws that prevent you from speaking of former contracts?"

"Why would you ask that, Master?"

"I want to know what your last contract consisted of. Or any of them, for that matter. I'm bored and curious. Pick one and tell me everything."

Sebastian set down the empty tea tray on the edge of Ciel's desk and barely managed to hide an exasperated sigh. "And may I inquire as to precisely _why_ my young master wishes to know this information?"

"I told you. I'm bored. Entertain me."

"May I sit? This will be quite the long story."

Ciel nodded toward the wing-back chair that faced his desk.

Sebastian unbuttoned his tailcoat and arranged it around his hips as he sat, crossing his legs and folding his hands leisurely across his abdomen. Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes briefly, conjuring up the memories that he'd suppressed for the last hundred years. Truth be told, there _was_ a previous contract that begged a good re-telling. And being the crass demon that he was, Sebastian knew it was full of all the things Ciel Phantomhive never wanted to hear about: passion, desire, destitution, despair... "I'll tell you a story, then, young Master. But on one condition. I have a question to ask you and I'd like you to _consider_ answering it. I'm not requesting specifically that you _do._ Only that at the end of my tale, you'll hear my inquiry and give it some thought."

"That is a legitimate request. Go on, then."

"My tale begins a century ago. I was called forth from the depths by a Mulatto woman plagued with visions. First, you must understand the supremacy with which superstition ruled in this place and time. It was New Orleans, Louisiana, 1789. About the same time, there was a small outbreak of plague in the city. Superstition ruled not only the general populace, but the Catholic church, as well. Routinely, people were lynched, burned, and murdered over superstitious beliefs. The woman that summoned me was the seventh child of her master's mistress, and in turn, she was pregnant with the seventh child of the son of her master-"

"The perfect stipulation to incur Vampirism."

"Precisely. Being of mixed lineage, she was raised with the slaves of her plantation, not by the family that owned it. When the people that she considered family realized the gravity of her situation, she was shunned. She was well into her ninth month of pregnancy when she summoned me. Because of the closeness of relation to the father, the six previous children were either miscarried, or died very shortly after birth. But because this woman suffered from what many of her peers called 'Holy Visions', she saw that this child would survive—and that she would not."

"How tragic," Ciel deadpanned, but his red irises gleamed with interest and Sebastian knew he had the young Phantomhive hooked.

"When I appeared before this young woman, I could read the fear and desperation in her eyes. I know that anyone who typically summons a demon would be filled with such emotion; but there was something so _pure_ about her visage that I could practically _taste_ her soul on the air in the room. She was huge with child, gasping for breath as she reclined in her dirty sleeping pallet; the summoning circle had been drawn around her with her own blood. The child was coming and there was naught either of us could do to stop it. I had seen many massacres in my life as a demon. Never had I seen blood so red, so _viscous_. The child was breached and it was tearing her apart from the inside out."

Ciel's eyes narrowed at the thought, an imperceptible shudder running the length of his spine. Never had he imagined the pains of a female in childbirth, but even his shriveled little black heart could beat a tune of pity for this unnamed woman.

"She stared up at me with enormous chocolate eyes, her mouth opening to speak, and I thought briefly, _What a beauty this woman must have been. And how delicious a soul filled with such unrivaled agony will taste..._"

_**1789**_

_''Etes-vous l'i-on avoir convoqué__ ?''_

''_Oui, mademoiselle. Je suis.''_

_''What must I do to bind you to a contract?'' Her voice was ragged, gasping. The pool of blood beneath her ruined white gown threatened to smear her summoning circle as she shifted to get a better look at him. He was a shadow in her blurred vision; a glimmering mass of black with tufted wings he carefully folded over his shoulders so as not to brush them against the filth of his surroundings. Her hands trembled at the sight before her, but she could not go back on what she'd done. There was a gleam of red through the blackness; a set of unforgiving eyes measuring her worth._

"_First, you must set your terms. When those are agreed upon, you bind me with a name. The seal cannot be broken until the terms of the contract are met."_

"_I know that you will devour my soul as payment, but the contract terms will not be met for many years...and you can see I will not last much longer."_

"_Hmm. Contract pre-payment. Never heard of such. But I'm a discerning demon. It sounds rather interesting. What _are_ you terms, precisely?"_

_She rocked back against the wall, her face growing more and more ashen by the minute. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment. Then, leveling her gaze at the shimmering blackness before her, she declared, "I want my child to grow. To have a life worth living. I cannot leave her with family. They think that she is a curse. I have been outcast to this hole of degradation and they will surely kill her the moment I am dead. I want a contract with you for _her_. You may have my soul as payment. When she reaches adulthood, the terms will be met."_

"_Shouldn't you be praying for a guardian angel, rather than making a deal with a devil?"_

"_Angels are not so reliable when you are bathed in these sorts of sins." She smiled a little, a tightening of the lips over teeth, the corner of her full wide mouth turning up; perhaps a grimace for the pain and the blasphemous joke she had uttered. She shook her head determinedly. "It does not matter for whom I pray. You will take the contract? Surely eighteen years is but a drop in the bucket for you. If she is anything like me, I promise you she will be fun..." a cough; choking. A trickle of blood came from the corner of her mouth and she threw her head back into the wall behind her. "Take it or leave! I am dying. I am full of agony and torment and either way my soul will go to hell..."_

"_Give me a name," the blackness whispered, fluttering and fading, becoming nothing more than a normal man standing before a dying woman. A breathtakingly beautiful man, dressed far too richly to be in hovel such as this one._

_She stared in bewilderment for a moment at the pressed satin breeches, the pristine white silk stockings, the darkest garnet waistcoat gathered under glittering lace cravat. The color of his vest perfectly matched his eyes and the glimmering, shimmering blackness that was his aura was now the black hair that hung about his perfectly angular face._

_A startled breath left her throat, a whispered, "Mon Dieu..."_

_A pleasantly crooked smile that belied his heavenly appearance appeared on his wide mouth. "Not hardly."_

"_Rene. Rene Corbeau, do my bidding!"_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**_Etes-vous l'i-on avoir convoqué? _**Are you the one I have summoned?

_**Oui, mademoiselle. Je suis. **_Yes, miss. I am.

_**Rene Corbeau **_means «reborn» and «crow or raven»


	2. Chapter 2

"I find the idea of you raising a child somewhat difficult to comprehend, Sebastian," Ciel sniffed, leaning further back into his desk chair.

"Believe it or not, young Master. I watched that woman pull a child from her own body, and took that child into my care with her mother's last breath." Sebastian stood suddenly, marching to the tall window behind the desk and dutifully tugged the curtains closed. The sun was setting and the light spilling into the study was overbearing. "I found a wash-bucket with relatively clean water in it and some rags the woman had prepared for herself and cleaned the babe. I was startled when I realized that the contract symbol had appeared on her, not on her mother. But there it was—staring me in the face; my pentagram emblem emblazoned on the flesh of her stomach."

"How did the mother's soul taste?" Ciel prodded, and without a flinch Sebastian replied.

"Words of the human tongue cannot describe it," he offered, slipping his tailcoat from his shoulders and arranging it over the back of the wing-back chair before sinking back into its plush cocoon. "Would you like me to continue, or am I boring you with my reminisces?"

"By all means, go on. I'm quite the captive audience."

Sebastian cleared his throat politely and gathered his thoughts.

_The child curled against his chest, wrapped in soft layers of linen, whimpered for a moment before her breathing evened out and she was asleep. He had thought that perhaps she would immediately need to feed, but apparently that was not the case. That was a good thing, considering it would take him a while to find a wet-nurse for her. Glancing around the single room for anything of value, he said partly to himself, "I suppose I shall have to name you... Your mother would insist on a French name, I'm sure..."_

_Finding nothing that would do him any good in his situation, he peered out the window of the hovel into the pitch black of night. He would have thought that the mother's screaming during her pangs of birth would have brought others running to her door. She was not exaggerating about her status of outcast, he decided, and seeing no soul in sight, he walked out the front door and toward the back entrance of the plantation proper some 200 yards away._

_In his experience, kitchen doors were rarely locked and he was happy to see it was true here, as well. He easily slid inside and eased past the pantries to the back staircase that would take him directly to the house servants' rooms on the third floor. The mother had left him with one vital bit of information: one of the house slaves had just borne a child. She would be able to nurse the babe he clutched to his chest. As silent as the grave, he crept to each door, one by one, cracking them open and peering inside until the fourth one granted him the sight of a sleeping woman, her hand hanging listlessly over the side of the bassinet next to her bed. He ghosted into the room, stopping at the foot of her bed and _willing_ her to wake._

_She moaned, turning onto her back and her eyes fluttered open. Full recognition never took over for her, so powerful was the demon's aura. She remained in a semi-conscious state, reaching out for the babe and drawing the neckline of her gown below her breast. The demon watched for a moment, forcing his will into her that she might remain in this state while he searched the house proper for valuables._

"You robbed the owners of the plantation?" Ciel demanded, chin propped on hands, elbows propped on desk. "I've never imagined you doing something so..._menial_," he whispered in amazement. Sebastian merely smiled his secretive smile.

"This should have been the child's rightful caretakers, should it not? I only took what I deemed would be a respectful inheritance."

Ciel's face was cracking with a rare and seldom-seen grin. "Continue."

_The demon made his way back to the second floor and methodically searched each room, pocketing every gem and coin and string of pearls he could find; the sleeping occupants blissfully unaware._

_When the pillowcase he had pilfered became full, he stashed his stolen coffer in the shack of the dead mother. Sneaking back inside, he found the study of the man of the house and consequently, found the safe where said regent kept his bank notes. Spying a sort of leather satchel tucked beneath the oak desk, the demon opened it and carefully stacked the bank notes inside._

_Slipping back upstairs he retrieved the babe from the charmed house slave and graciously rearranged her night dress to restore her modesty. The sun was coming up, filling the small room with an eerie red hue, and the child asleep in the bassinet was stirring, ready for his morning meal. "Merci beaucoup," the demon whispered to the now unconscious woman as she slumped forward._

_By the time the sun had fully risen, he was walking down the Rue Dumaine in the Vieux Carre._

"What did you name the child?" Ciel asked, curiosity rising sufficiently enough for him to interrupt Sebastian's tale.

"I named her Cybille. It means 'soothsayer'. I had high hopes for the child, after all; her mother _had_ possessed the gift of sight. I didn't intend to raise her as if she were my daughter, however. I chose DeMoreau for her surname and acted as her legal guardian and tutor."

"Go on. I have far too many questions."

"I found a cottage in the French Quarter where a childless old woman kept residence-"

"You charmed her right out of her home, didn't you?"

"Not precisely. I convinced her I was her only living nephew and she took us in directly."

Ciel's mouth curved upward in a full-tilt smile. Sebastian wasn't entirely certain he'd ever seen his young master _smile_. "You _are_ enjoying this aren't you?"

"Unabashedly. Keep going."

_The diminutive little maid looked back and forth between the well-dressed gentleman holding the child and her mistress. She was undoubtedly confused about the sudden appearance of this so-called nephew but it certainly wasn't her place to question her mistress. She was little more than a wash-woman, at any rate. The man spoke flawless French, he knew things about Madame Faustine and her family; surely he was who he claimed. The old woman inquired about the babe. He spun dramatic __tales of finding her near the Cathedral, crying against her mother's still breast. The Madame gobbled up his stories, welcoming him home and sending the maid out immediately to fetch her lawyer that she might sign her house over to her nephew in her will._

_The demon studied the maid cautiously from his peripheral. She would be harder to charm, he knew. She was young, aware, and quite frankly entirely to intelligent for her position. But apparently the old woman had a soft-spot for hopeless causes—luckily for him—because her maid was pregnant by the old woman's coachman and Madame Faustine had taken her into service as well because of her infirmity. Aimee was her name and she was due any day. The demon wondered if he should question his string of luck. All crises had been averted, splendidly and without fail, one after another. A nursing slave, a safe full of bank notes, a lonely old woman with a house much too large for only herself, a pregnant maid; and he knew in the way that he _knew_ things; the old woman's heart would give out in less than a month._

_Aimee's rounded belly threw off her center of balance and she toddled more than anything as she carefully made her way down the three steep steps to the sidewalk and toward Rue Royal to fetch her mistress' lawyer. The demon made himself comfortable in the Madame's parlor and allowed her to take the child from him. She cooed and coddled the girl, commenting on her cafe aulait complexion and her startling blue eyes. "But isn't it that all newly borne children have those blue, blue eyes?" he asked her innocently, and she nodded without taking her eyes from the babe's face._

"_She will be a beautiful girl, a magnificent young woman one day—if only I would be here to witness it. You intend to raise her as your own?"_

"_I haven't given it that much thought, actually," the demon lied. He intended no such thing. She was a contract. At best, he would be her teacher in everything she wished to learn. But he was centuries beyond forming emotional bonds. He had to admit, the consequences of her story—her patronage and the farces of her mother's peers did have somewhat of a tug on heartstrings he wasn't aware he still possessed. But even demons knew right from wrong and he refused to fault himself for feeling pity for a newborn child._

_When the maid returned, a white-bearded man in tow, the babe was deftly pawned off on her while Madame Faustine had her lawyer write Rene Corbeau into her will. Aimee disappeared into the back of the house and the demon heard a door close in the distance. He knew she was going to the kitchens across the rear courtyard, presumably to feed the child, so he gave it no more thought._

"Days spilled one over into another and the madame was soon confined to her bed, her weak heart preventing her from leaving the house. She would take breakfast in the courtyard every morning with myself and the babe; Aimee would hover at her side until she was finished picking at her eggs and beignets, then hustle her back into her bed until one morning, the faithful maid went into labor and it was I who was forced to take the madame to her room while the coachman was sent for a doctor."

Ciel leaned bodily over the desk, arms folded in front of him, chin resting at the cross of limbs. His unabashed interest in Sebastian's story was unnerving the demon butler. In one aspect, it was quite beguiling; in light of that fact, however, Sebastian had never seen the boy take _any_ form of entertainment—especially lengthy ones—this close to heart. He continued.

_The old woman tugged at the demon's sleeve as he settled her against her down pillows in her richly garbed bed. "Tell me I am doing the right thing for that babe," she pleaded, her milky eyes tearing up suddenly._

"_What ever do you mean, Aunt?"_

"_You and I both know that I have no nephew. But something outside myself told me to take the two of you in. I hold no ill will against you—you have a foreign flavor. And I know that even if you tell yourself you haven't taken that child because you felt the need to, you will do right by her and care for her and love her. You are not of this world, be it New Orleans or Earth. But you have a _heart_ demon."_

_He pulled away slightly, taken aback by her words, and she leaned up, leveling her bony finger to his aristocratic nose. "You'll do right by her, and Aimee. And damn that sorry coachman of mine for I've not had the heart to toss him out on his ear. He is bad news. A human, but he is not very good at it. Get rid of him when you take over my house."_

"_Yes, Madame. Is there anything else you would like to share with me? I fear you've made _my_ heart weak with your revelations."_

_The old woman smiled and settled back against her pillows. "A few years ago, I bumped into a beautiful Mulatto woman shopping for her master. She gasped when she brushed against me. When I asked if she was all right, she asked forgiveness for what she was about to tell me. I told her it was not necessary. She proceeded to describe with utter detail every single occurrence that has transpired in this house in the last three weeks. I would have assumed she was conflicted...insane. Except for the conviction in her eyes and the tremble of her hand..." the madame closed her eyes and lay her head back against the satin. "...the _fear_ in her voice when she said the word 'demon'; that is what convinced me she spoke the truth."_

"_Cybille is her daughter."_

"_I thought so."_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's chapter 3... I do not own Kuroshitsuji. God knows, if I did, Sebastian would be chained in my basement. ^.^ Thanks for the reviews/faves. I am deeply honored. Keep reading, keep enjoying, and _please_ keep reviewing!**

"What did you do with the coachman, I wonder?" Ciel mumbled, then delicately hid a yawn behind his hand.

"Am I boring you yet, young Master?" Sebastian asked, leaning forward in the chair, familiar smirk stretched over his face.

"No. But I seem to be rather tired. Do tell me what you did to the coachman when the old Madame Faustine died."

Sebastian stood, gathering his coat from the back of the chair, and slipping it back on. He fastened the buttons slowly and with precision, dusted his lapels, then leveled his gaze at the young Phantomhive. "I made a contract with him, of course."

Ciel's eyes widened briefly, then carefully narrowed as he thought about the implications. "I was not aware that a demon could hold more than one contract at a time."

"With all due respect, young Master, there are many things about being a demon that you have yet to learn. It will come in due time, I assure you. But as for the coachman, I approached him shortly after Madame Faustine died. I told him I was a demon and that I could make him a very rich man...that he could possess riches far beyond his current limitations within an hour if he would contract with me."

"I can see where this is going," Ciel all but chuckled, reclining in his chair once again.

_The toothless grin was sickening; but only half as bad as the rancid breath that breezed out of the gaps between his remaining teeth as the coachman laughed and wheezed, weighing the leather satchel in his grasp. He sat it gently down on the bed in the demon's room, parting the clasp and peering in at the stacks and stacks of bank notes inside._

"_Sacrebleu! __Vous êtes vraiment un démon__!"_

"_You doubted me?" the demon replied, laying an elegant hand on the shoulder of the coachman. "Now that you are richer beyond your wildest imagination, the terms of our contract have been met. It is time you pay me what you owe."_

_The grizzled face contorted as realization set in. That he could have the money and _not_ use it had not occurred to him upon making the contract, of course. The demon leaned in, far too close for the comfort of either of them; the glowing red embers of his eyes made the coachman tremble beneath his touch. The foul breath of the human man turned the demon's stomach. "It is a good thing, I think, that I do not have to taste your body in order to consume your soul..."_

_Aimee's child was born the same day the madame passed away. And on the day of the funeral, the coachman was dispatched. Two days later, the coachman's body was found washed up on the banks of the Mississippi, just south of the city. When the news made it back to the Faustine home, the demon found a new sense of respect for the quiet, humble housemaid. Knocking lightly on her door, he entered at her behest, finding a lovely, rumpled young woman, two babes slumbering on either side of her. She smiled and asked if there was any thing she could do._

"_Dear, no. Nothing I cannot handle myself," the demon assured her. "But I do have a bit of ...I hesitate to call it 'bad'...news that came this morning."_

"_Ce qui est mal__?"_

"_They found Maurice's body washed ashore this morning. It appears he fell into the river drunk and drowned."_

_Aimee rolled her eyes and snorted. "Serves the bastard right. And one less mouth to feed. I'm sorry, Monsieur Rene. That was rude of me."_

"_Absolutely. And I quite enjoyed it. We can walk anywhere we need to go. Is there anything you require?"_

"_Oh, Mon Dieu! Non! I am the servant here, not you! I am only sorry that I cannot be of more help to you. The doctor said it will take no more than a week for me to be back on my feet..." she was interrupted by the whimpers of one of the babes. "Etes-vous __prêts__ a manger?" she asked, turning and carefully pulling the child up to her breast._

"_I'll leave you to it, then," the demon remarked, averting his gaze as she drew the neckline of her gown down to feed the child. The whimpers of the second babe marked his exit. He decided to pass some time going over the accounts of the Faustine household._

"My luck was pouring in in droves. The old Madame had quite the income; and despite her living in relative elegance, she was somewhat of a penny-pincher. The servant girl was very well-paid and there was more than enough money to raise both children in nothing but the best situation. I set about making an allowance for each of them, which the maid defiantly refused for her own son—at first. It amused me to no end that given the circumstances, she had the wherewithal to refuse the best for her child, based solely on her own station. We argued over it for days. I did it behind her back of course, before she ever agreed to anything."

"Why such compassion, Sebastian? I understand your end of the contract being met; but the maid and her child were simply in the right place at the right time. It seems to me as if you were building a chess board with their home and situating them as your pawns..." Ciel yawned again. "I'm terribly sorry. It seems as though I have not yet gained your proclivity for lack of sleep."

"It's quite all right, young Master. The need for sleep will decline as you grow older. And yes, to put it simply, I _was_ putting together a little game of chess. Not necessarily for myself. It was again, sheer luck, that the maid had borne a son. As such, I could see that my Cybille was well-cared for and perhaps even married off by her eighteenth birthday, as my contract had dictated."

Ciel nodded and closing his eye briefly, he stood. "I'm going to retire for the evening. I expect you to go on at our next convenience. Goodnight, Sebastian."

"Goodnight, my lord."

Sebastian went about his nightly duties after seeing that Ciel was situated for the night. His storytelling had stirred up many old memories and they filled his head as he walked the halls of the mansion, checking rooms and tidying as he went.

"_You don't seem to understand, Monsieur Rene!" the maid exclaimed over her shoulder as she cooked breakfast. "It is not befitting for the bastard child of a maid to have an inheritance, an education...these are all things that I have never heard of!"_

"_I assure you, mademoiselle, these things are quite all right if he has a benefactor. There is more than enough for it. I'll see personally to his education. I intend to tutor Cybille, and having one more mind to fill with knowledge will be my pleasure. I will not be here forever and I'd like to see that you and _both_ of the children are taken care of in my absence."_

"_What do you mean, you will not be here? You make it sound as if you are planning to die soon."_

"_You, my dear, are evading the subject. I was trying not to do this, but I will if I must. I am master of the house now, and as your master, I _insist_ that you allow me to provide for your son."_

_She turned her attention back to the skillet in front of her, her shoulders drooping in defeat. "Do not get me wrong, Monsieur. I want the best for my son—for Cybille as well. But I feel as though this is imposing on you and that is not proper for a woman of my station."_

"_It's not imposing if I demand it. It is settled then. Young master Lucien will be properly educated, allotted a handsome allowance—part of that will be yours, of course—and if I'm lucky, will be good match for Cybille when they are older."_

"_Let us hope he does not inherit any of his father's...well, _anything_ of his father's," Aimee laughed, producing a plate and setting beignets, eggs, and pork sausage in front of the demon. "Eat, Monsieur. Beignets are my specialty."_

"_No, dear. I have no appetite for food," the demon declined, standing from his chair and pulling it out a bit. "Sit, and _you_ eat. I'm not really a breakfast person."_

_Aimee studied his solemn face for a moment, wondering why she hadn't realized how startlingly handsome he was, and knowing that she would lose this argument as well, she sat, allowing him to push her closer to the table. "You do not seem to be a meal person, at all, no matter the time of day."_

"_I suppose you're right. There is nothing so impressive about the need to taste. I forgo many meals."_

"_You never eat," she said blatantly, "do you?"_

"_Occasionally."_

"_Non. __Jamais__. I saw you take every meal with Madame Faustine, and in the time that you have been here, I have not seen you take a single bite of food." She leveled her gaze to his face again, eyes searching the depths of garnet pools before her and for just one singular second, she saw them flame with an otherworldly glow. "__Vous n'êtes pas un vampire, etes-vous__?"_

_A wide and secretive smile spread slowly over the demon's features. It raised goosebumps on the flesh of the maid's arms but she stoically shrugged it off and turned her eyes back to her plate. "Just don't eat _me_."_

_The demon laughed. "Are you sure?"_

"_Non, not really. But I think that you are not human. You are too beautiful to be human."_

"_And _you_ are honest to a fault, mademoiselle. And you are far too intelligent to have found yourself in the predicament that you are in. Do tell me how you wound up pregnant with that wretched coachman's child."_

"_It was rape. I assure you, I was not a willing party to it. The Madame needed a coachman; she was too soft-hearted to toss him out. When she found out about my...predicament, as you call it...she brought me into her employ as well. I think she was very nearly like a mother to me; except I have no real mother to compare her to, so I do not know."_

"_I promise I will not eat you. And I am not a vampire. I am a man, bound by a contract, to care for Cybille. That you have found yourself and your son in the midst of it all is only a coincidence. I will see to it that you are compensated for any troubles that arise in my presence and your son will be the next master of this household, if everything works out to my plan."_

_Aimee's dark head turned back to her plate as she poked at her eggs with her fork for another moment and digested the information the demon had just given her. Finally, she nodded. "I understand. And I hope I can be of service to you while your plan comes to fruition."_

"_My dear, you already have."_

The next morning found Sebastian flinging open the heavy drapes in Ciel's bedchambers, drawing the boy demon from his slumber somewhat abruptly. Apparently, the butler's tales had plagued his dreams—if he _had_ dreams—for the first words he uttered were, "You didn't dally with the maid, did you?"

For a moment, Sebastian thought that he may have meant Mei-Rin, but that was absurd. For one thing, they hadn't seen any of the former servants since Ciel had made his transformation to demon, thanks to Alois' final wish. For another, the thought of "dallying" with the bespectacled air-head was just too...well, _absurd_. "Whatever are you talking about, young lord?"

Ciel propped himself on the edge of the bed, habitually tying the eye-patch over his branded right eye. "Aimee. You didn't..._did_ you?"

"First of all, there is too much to do for me to pick up where I left off. Secondly, my "dallying" with the maid shouldn't make a difference to you—that is not the moral of my tale."

Ciel laughed. He openly _laughed_. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at his young master as he laid out the day's outfit for him. "I never, _never _in my wildest _dreams_ believed I would receive a _morality tale_ from a _demon! _So you _did_ dally with the maid."

"Once or twice. But that is beside the point." Sebastian dutifully began undressing and redressing the boy, wondering—not for the first time—if he would ever possess the ability to at least do _this_ on his own. "I will continue the storytelling when both of us have sufficient amounts of time."

"I have nothing _but_ time, Sebastian. Suppose I followed you all day. Could you tell it while you...did whatever it is that you _do_ all day?"

"I find it hard to believe that my past has you this utterly enthralled."

"I've always appreciated a good story. And your past is something that has always made me wonder. How is it that you became such a _compassionate_ demon? I find myself asking that question over and over..." Ciel was clearly teasing him, but he failed to get a rise out of the butler.

"If you think you can keep up with me, I'll talk until you've had your fill, my young lord."

Ciel smiled again—Sebastian was beginning to wonder if turning into a demon had actually made him a more cheerful child. "Yes, you will. And spare me no details. I'm old enough to hear everything you have to tell."

"You are too young to be a lecher."

Another self-satisfied grin as Ciel stood, Sebastian having tied both his boots and made to stand. "I hardly think my _innocence_ can suffer more than it already has."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I own nothing except my original characters, the plot, and my probably-horrible rendition of the French language.**

Ciel was actually impressing Sebastian with his ability to keep up with the older demon. He even seemed to forget himself and _help_ here and there; rolling up his sleeves to wipe down a table, rearranging a bouquet in a vase, flicking dust off of one of the gilt mirrors in the foyer. If his tale was so beguiling that it made the young master something more than physically _inept_, he would have to weave more tales, Sebastian thought. Still, dutifully, he continued as promised; simply voicing aloud his thoughts, for more often than not, these memories were what busied his mind while he labored away in the mansion.

_Five years passed in the blink of an eye. Aimee's son was growing faster than the demon had ever known a human to grow. His chestnut hair hung limply about his cherubic face; eyes so dark they appeared to be lined with kohl stared at everyone and everything in perfect amazement. Aimee was doing a fine job of teaching him humbling manners, and even so young, he treated everyone he met with such gentlemanly actions, it elated his mother. The old coachman was never spoken of so it did not surprise the demon to be faced with the question of Lucien's parentage. Unfortunately, it happened at the worst of times: as Aimee was trying sneak out of the demon's room one night..._

"You say that as though your claim of 'once or twice' was a lie, Sebastian."

"I didn't count, my young master," Sebastian remarked, continuing.

_Black eyes peered through the darkness, settling on the pale figure reclined against the headboard as Aimee slipped between the door and the child. Grabbing him by the shoulder, she exclaimed, "What are you doing out of your bed, young man?"_

_He looked so enraged for a split second, then his features flattened, emotions roiling under the surface of the five-year-old's face; emotions that did not belong on a five-year-old's face. "What are you doing in _his_, Maman?"_

_Spinning him around, she shuffled him back to his bedroom which was adjoined to Cybille's. The demon suspected that Aimee wished her son was more like the unassuming girl. "You are supposed to be asleep. Monsieur Rene is going to punish you with your studies for sneaking about at night."_

"_Cybille told me you were there. I want to know, Maman. I want to know if he is my father?"_

"_No, he is not. And we will never speak of your father. He was a vile, evil man and he got what was coming to him."_

"_Do you love Enseignant?"_

"_Monsieur Rene and I have...an agreement. Non, I do not love him...not the way you think. Il est votre tuteur, nothing more."_

_The demon sighed a relieved sigh, knowing that Aimee would set the boy straight on his lineage and that she had not grown too attached to their occasional romps. They used each other, and they both understood that; there was no unspoken assumption about their relationship. He could hear her putting the too-intelligent boy back to bed, then opening the door that joined his room to Cybille's, presumably to check on the tattle-tale girl._

"_Cybille DeMoreau, what do you think you're doing, awake at this hour?" he faintly heard Aimee scold, her voice growing more distant as she entered the room fully. The demon leaned forward in his bed and snatched his trousers off the foot-board. He was not too proud to eavesdrop._

"_Lucien wanted you but you were not in your room, Aimee," the girl said matter-of-factly, her tiny voice lilting with her deep French accent. "So I closed my eyes and I saw you. I saw you with my Rene. What were you doing to him?"_

_The demon held back a self-satisfied smile at hearing the child's words. So, her visions were coming to her already? This should prove useful. And quite possibly disastrous, he amended, still amused._

_Aimee blanched. What did she mean, she closed her eyes and _saw_ them? That was absurd..._impossible!_ "What do you mean, Cybille? Were you spying? That's not very lady-like."_

"_I was not. I closed my eyes and I saw you. That's all. Sometimes I see things when I con...concen..." her little face grew lax at her misplacement of vocabulary._

"_Concentrate?" Aimee offered. The child nodded, swinging her legs over the side of her bed suddenly and dropping to the floor. "Where are you going?"_

"_To my Rene. Now that you are done with him. When I close my eyes with him, I do not see bad things."_

_Aimee's face was a blank slate of confusion, but pivoting on her heel as Cybille hurried past, she was startled to see Rene there, at the door, lifting the tiny girl into his arms. He merely offered her a smile that he hoped looked as confused as her own expression and held the girl to his chest. She had made it a habit to sneak into his room at night, curling up against him as he feigned sleep, and slipping into peaceful slumber herself. Who was he to break a child's habit? She wasn't harming anyone...except perhaps his resistance to her. He knew he was on thin ice when she had started with this "My Rene" statement. Now he worried silently as he made his way back to his bedroom that perhaps he was growing too attached to the child. He told himself it was because he had such plans for her and her abilities. But deep down in his blackened little heart, he suspected he felt it beating once again._

_He "awoke" the next morning to squeals and ringing laughter bouncing off the bricked walls of the courtyard outside his window. It was rare that the children beat him out of bed, but the wafting scent of Aimee's beignets hit his nostrils and he immediately knew why. For the first time in centuries, he wished he could taste human food again. The side of the bed that Cybille had occupied held a tray with three beignets and a small card with a scrawled note. It simply read, "Cybille and I told him you would not eat, but Lucien insisted. It's his apology for last night."_

_Despite himself, the demon felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He set the tray aside on the nightstand and rolled out of bed to get dressed. He heard Lucien and Cybille's peals of laughter again as he made his way out to the courtyard, a stack of books in hand that he intended to use for their lessons that day._

"_Maman? If Cybille has no mother, and I no father, why can you not be her maman and Rene be my papa?" he heard Lucien ask, as he rounded the fountain that sat in the center of the courtyard._

"_No!" Cybille cried, lunging for Aimee's skirts. "No, he is _my_ Rene. I do not want to share him. I do not want anyone to have him but me! Il est mon père, mon frère; il est mon tout!"_

_Aimee lay a gentle hand atop the girls honey-colored curls. "He is your life, I know, ma chere. Lucien, you should not upset a lady so..."_

"_Je suis désolé, Maman," the boy whispered, not really understanding what had upset Cybille so much. He reached out and tugged at the girl's hand. "Je suis désolé, Cybille."_

"_I cannot explain," she started, but her attention was derailed by the arrival of the man in question. "Rene!" she exclaimed, launching herself at his legs._

"_You do not have to explain, my dear," he assured her, knowing that what bound them was her mother's contract with him and that she could not possibly understand the implications of such. "Master Lucien, Mademoiselle Cybille, are you ready for your lessons?"_

"_Oui, Oui!" they shouted in unison, quickly seating themselves at the wrought-iron table where they had devoured breakfast not long before._

"I am curious. What pray tell, were you teaching those children? They sound far too intelligent for their age."

"I taught them everything. Not unlike how I tutored you, young master. Lucien was learning the violin, Cybille, piano. Both of them were fluent in five languages by the age of seven, not including French and English which they both spoke from the time they were able to form words. Aimee primarily spoke French, as did everyone in New Orleans at the time, but as I speak English, they were inclined to mix the two. I taught them Latin, as Aimee insisted on carting them off to Mass every Sunday—and though I was against it, I couldn't really voice my opposition aloud. So learning Latin, they would at least know what the priest was saying in his messages."

"That seems logical," Ciel muttered, halfheartedly swiping his finger over the surface of the sofa table next to which he stood.

"They learned Italian, German, Spanish, and Irish Gaelic in their studies. New Orleans was a melting pot of European cultures and I wanted them to be well-armed for any and every social interaction they might ever have. Math, literature, geography, and mythology rounded off their studies. I left theology to the priests at St. Louis'."

Ciel wandered over to the Victorian sofa and sat, turning his head over his shoulder ever-so-slightly, to beckon Sebastian over. The butler made his way to the matching chair facing the sofa and looked inquiringly at his young lord. "Sit and continue."

"As you wish, my master."

_It was after Cybille's declaration of not wanting to share "her Rene" that Aimee ceased to come to the demon's room. The girl's uncanny ability to know precisely what was happening anywhere at any given time was beginning to take its toll on the maid, superstitions arising once again after such a peaceful bout with none. She wore a happy facade when around the children, especially Cybille, but when it was only Aimee and Rene, the edifice cracked, and he wondered if she would become a problem in the future. He still had high hopes for both Cybille and Lucien, but he was suspicious that the priest at St. Louis' had begun to get under the maid's skin. He pushed his worries aside, though, for if Aimee would be an issue, Cybille would see it coming before anyone else; and she would spare no time at all relating her concerns to the demon._

_As it was, five-year-olds became six, then six became seven and one year bled into another, blissful calm surrounding the townhouse and the occupants therein. Aimee had never questioned the demon further about his origins; he was surprised to walk into the kitchen as she asked a twelve-year-old Cybille if she knew that "_her Rene"_ was not human._

"_Of course he is not human," the girl had answered blatantly, turning a grin on the graying maid._

_Aimee still retained her French-Colonial beauty, but she was not so young as she used to be. Seeing the demon never age, year after year, had plagued her; as her face produced fine lines and the hair at her temples began to turn silver, her disposition became more and more withdrawn. She was growing weary of seeing that same ethereal beauty day in and day out, and jealous that she could not possess it for herself. Watching Cybille grow into an undeniable beauty wore on her nerves, as well. Her toffee skin and honey-colored hair made her an exotic; the type of young woman every man would crave in a few short years, regardless of their age._

"_When did you know," Aimee asked, dusting her hands off on her apron as she turned to another chore._

"_I've always known. I do not see him the way you do. The veil is thinner for me."_

"_The veil?"_

"_Yes. The veil that separates humans from the spiritual world. The fortune-teller down at the corner told me. I have visions because my mother had them. The veil is thinner for people like us."_

"_What ever were you doing talking to a fortune-teller?" the demon piped up, sauntering into the kitchen and seating himself at the corner table. "You know they cannot be trusted."_

"_But she was so sweet. She gave me a doll and some cards to read. She said they would help me focus my visions."_

"_Tarot, I presume. And what kind of doll?" the demon inquired, folding his arms over his chest and reclining in the wooden chair._

"_It's a black doll, made of twined straw with its features painted on. She said if I ever needed to exact revenge it was the perfect tool to use."_

_He laughed openly at the mortified look that passed Aimee's face. "A Voodoo doll?" she spun on Rene. "Why is there a Voodoo priestess at the corner of our street?"_

"_I do not know, ma chere. Why don't you tell your priest and let him deal with her."_

"_You've become quite crass in the last few years," she pointed out, turning back to the okra she was chopping now._

"_No, dear, you've only become less enamored of me in the last few years."_

_Cybille was smiling faintly to herself as the two adults bickered. It was fine with her. She knew Rene had plans for her to marry Lucien—she didn't mind that so much. But since she was very small, the affection that Aimee had for her Rene had perturbed her to no end. He was hers and hers alone. The demon was her caretaker, her family, her black angel._

**A/N: I apologize for any language errors that may have existed. Seeing as my French is more than a little rusty, I have been relying on GoogleTranslate perhaps too much. Anyway, thanks for reading and remember, Reviews are affirmation. My knowing that you like what you're reading helps me finish what I'm writing. Help me help you! Review! ^.^**


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own Kuroshitsuji, only the OCs and plot within. I'm only taking them out to play and I'll put them back when I'm done!**

The day's chores done, Ciel and Sebastian retreated into Ciel's study once more, the child obviously pondering heavily over his demon butler's tale. The idea itself that Sebastian had had other contracts before his own did not faze him; it was the idea that the butler had formed bonds with other humans, _felt_ something for others that had gone beyond his duty to any given contract. A few short years ago, when Ciel was still a human child, he had imagined once or twice that the demon had perhaps possessed something more than a contractual obligation to _him_. Maybe even that he _cared_ for Ciel in his own twisted way. But hearing the dry manner in which he normally spoke leave his voice on occasion during his story told Ciel that if Sebastian had indeed felt more than an obligation to him at any point in time, it was nothing compared to the emotions he'd possessed a century ago for the mortals that he'd lived with; particularly that girl, Cybille. His voice veritably _softened_ when he spoke of the girl, and that had Ciel wondering a great many more things.

Retreating behind his desk, he seated himself in the overstuffed chair with the air of a king. Crossing his small legs one over the other, he folded his hands in his lap and nodded to the wing-back chair across the desk, silently bidding the butler to sit and, of course, continue his narrative. "Tell me about this _Voodoo_. I've not heard much about it, other than it is considered dark magic."

"Actually, it's not nearly as dark as most people believe," Sebastian began, taking his coat off and folding it over the back of the chair before sitting. "It's a mixture of African tribal beliefs and Catholic icons. The Voodoo doll that Cybille was given was not, as she claimed, to exact revenge. I think that she was merely trying to scare Aimee from trying to bed me again. Traditionally, the doll is a talisman for good fortune. A ritual called a _gris-gris_ is performed on it to bless another with good luck."

"How quaint. _Did_ the maid ever try to sneak into your room again?" Ciel asked boldly, a tiny grin playing at the corner of his lips.

"No. I think that she had lost confidence in her own looks, seeing the woman that Cybille was growing into. She knew she would be no match for Cybille if I ever turned my eye her way."

"And you did? Turn your eye her way, I mean?"

"Shall I get on with the story, then?"

"Please do."

_Despite the apparent growing distrust between Aimee and Cybille, Lucien was still the demon's trump card. He was growing up to be quite the handsome young man and it was obvious that he had eyes only for the girl with whom he had grown up. The demon certainly couldn't blame him; Cybille was a beguiling child and she was growing into an excruciating beauty._

"She had quite the same personality as Mistress Elizabeth."

"Lizzie?"

"Yes. I don't believe either of them have ever met a stranger. They both put their utmost faith in everyone around them, always thinking of their loved ones first; minus Miss Elizabeth's penchant for small tantrums, that is. Cybille was a sweet, unassuming child, who never had to go to great lengths to make a friend. She saw the best in everyone but she never assumed that the best was all they were capable of. Still, she was ever forgiving, like Miss Elizabeth, and full of hope like most children."

"You speak very fondly of naivete."

"Do not confuse naivete for hope, young Master. That is a mistake not lightly pardoned. I have learned that time and time again, century after century."

"I did not realize you thought so highly of Lizzie," Ciel remarked, uncrossing and recrossing his thin legs behind the desk; shifting his weight in the plush chair as he did. It was a notion of discomfort, Sebastian knew, a fidget that he had grown accustomed to seeing when Ciel was under pressure. He noted the action and continued.

_In 1801, the children celebrated their twelfth birthday together. Aimee had prepared quite an unprecedented feast and a large cake for the both of them. A small number of people came by for their 'party', mostly men that had done business with Rene Corbeau or the few ladies that Aimee had met at Mass and considered friends. The cycle of people to interact with had exhausted Cybille's normally buoyant personality, and after the last guest left, she sneaked away from Aimee and Lucien to find her Rene. The demon had closeted himself against the onslaught of female parishioners after the first two had nearly swooned in his presence. To avoid faking smiles and innocent facades, he retreated to his room and bolted the door. The tiny rapping on the other side pulled him from whatever reverie he had envisioned and he ambled to the door, throwing the bolt aside to admit his visitor._

"_They are all gone, I think," Cybille muttered, crawling into his bed, a small black velvet bag in her grasp._

"_That is indeed a relief. What have you there, ma douce?"_

_The girl smiled to herself and scooted against his pillows, leaning back against his headboard, and undoing the tie on the bag. "It is the Tarot cards that the Voodoo woman gave me. I want to learn to read them, but I don't know what all of them mean."_

"_That, I believe, I can help you with," he replied, climbing in next to her and reclining as well. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he crossed his ankles and leaned his head near her honey curls. "Which ones are you having trouble with?"_

_She sighed, a great dramatic sigh that only a twelve-year-old can manage sincerely. "_All_ of them," she admitted. "I understand the concept of some, like the Lovers, and the Devil. But it is not enough. Can you teach me?"_

"_Absolutely. I will start with the basics. Did the woman tell you anything about them when she gave them to you?"_

"_Only that they can only be received as a gift and to never let anyone else use them. And to keep them in this bag unless I am using them. She said something about 'spreads' and I think that she meant an order to put them in when I read them, and that there were many different 'spreads' that one can use for different purposes."_

"_She is right on all counts. Let's start with each card's meaning and then we shall learn spreads, shall we?"_

_Cybille smiled, ear to ear, at the demon, and nodded vigorously. "Oui, __s'il vous plaît, Mon Rene.__"_

"_Let us start with the Major Arcana, then..."_

_Cybille had a way of soaking up knowledge, especially when the subject held her interest. Her abilities as a seer had surfaced when she was very young, so this new uncharted territory excited her. Within two hours, she had perfectly memorized the Major Arcana, and the demon wondered if it was too late in the evening to go ahead with the Minor. Checking his pocket watch on the bedside table, he noted the late hour, turning his head to the girl who now slumped against his shoulder. A few moments of silence had allowed her exhausted mind to rest, and now she slept, in a most uncomfortable position, he was sure, leaning against his rigid frame, the black bag clutched tightly closed around the cards in her fist. The sensation was still a bit foreign to him, but despite himself, he felt a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Wrapping an arm around her, he stretched her out on the side of the bed she had traditionally claimed as hers and pulled a thin coverlet over her prone form. She mumbled something in her sleep that sounded suspiciously like "N__e pas y toucher__ , Lucien.." and for a moment, the demon's blood boiled in his veins._

_Laying himself out beside Cybille, careful not to wake her, he _pressed_ her with his will, urging the girl to speak in her sleep; he was certain it was relevant information that she was afraid to pass on. The only problem was that he didn't know if Lucien had already touched her inappropriately, or if the action was yet to pass._

"_Non, pas la..."_

Where is he touching you, Cybille? _the infuriated demon demanded wordlessly, gently pressing two fingers to her temple and closing his own eyes, hoping to receive some glimpse into her dreams to determine the damage. He caught a flash of two images; a large pale hand laid across an ample breast and the visage of who he could only assume was Lucien, only at the very least, at eighteen years of age. He released an audible sigh of relief. Yet to come was far better than _now_ and also held the probability of being prevented. The lines that creased Cybille's forehead disappeared with his touch and reluctantly he pulled back, lest the dream happen again. After a moment, seeing that she was sleeping peacefully, he rose from the bed and retreated to his desk, asking himself—not for the first time—why this human child provoked such unprecedented reactions to his senses of sympathy and justice. He could not accept the fact that he loved her; not as a child, not as a companion; most certainly not romantically. But there was a definite affection that he felt for her; he could not deny that. Sighing again, he reached for a book on the top of one of many stacks that littered the desk, resigning himself to his fate. It would be over in another six years, he told himself, and pretended to read.  
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_Rather than sleep, the demon fell into somewhat of a semi-conscious state; completely aware of his surroundings, yet unfazed by them. Sometime in the early morning hours, he was snapped from what could only be called his meditation by Cybille's soft declaration. "I don't see you like I used to."_

_His voice a bit deeper from lack of use over the past several hours, he replied, "What do you mean, ma douce?"_

_Shining gray eyes peered over the coverlet at him, blinking away sleep; the black bag still clutched in her grasp. She blinked harder, as if willing a vision to appear...or disappear. Then, "When I was small. I saw you for what you are. I've always known. You stood before me with huge black wings, clad all in leather, like some avenging angel. It was terrifying...beautiful. Now I only see a man."_

_The demon had no reply. He stared at the girl in mute shock for a moment before uttering a gruff, "Hmm."_

_There were several more seconds of silence between them before he spoke again. "What sort of a man do you see?"_

_Cybille rose up under the coverlet and dropped herself out of the bed, shuffling over to the demon seated at the desk. Without preamble she slid into his lap, laying her head beneath his chin. This was the sort of thing she did without thought or prejudice that made him wonder what sort of man he _was_, and he truly hoped the girl could tell him. He was turning out to not be the demon he thought he was; nothing like the bringer of the black death, or the harbinger of so many other disastrous occurrences over the last millenia._

_Her smooth forehead was pressed against the side of his neck, her breath tickling the skin of his chest where his shirt hung slightly open from the removal of the cravat. Slowly, he set aside his book and, doubting his actions, but nevertheless unable to stop them, he rested his head atop her own, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her more securely against him._

"_I see confliction," she whispered, closing her eyes. "You are so confused. You do not know what you are anymore because of...me. I'm so sorry."_

"_You haven't done anything wrong, ma douce. And yes, I am conflicted. What else do you see?"_

_She sighed and opened her eyes. "I see so much, but it is mostly your past...things I do not understand fully. I see what you felt for Aimee when you..."_

"_What I felt? For the maid, or for the...acts that we performed?" He would be delicate in this inquiry; he knew that Cybille was fully aware of what had transpired between the two of them, but she was still young and he need not call it what it was for her to understand._

"_You feel contempt for Aimee. You felt contempt for her for making you want to fulfill your...baser needs as a man. But you indulged her because you thought it made you more unfeeling, like you could use her body and the unfeeling act of it made you more of a demon."_

"_Your clairvoyance is uncanny." He pulled away from her slightly, staring down into steel gray eyes and realized with a start that those pools of molten steel glistened with tears. "What is wrong?"_

"_I do not know." She blinked up at him, her small hand clutched around the lapel of his shirt, then turned her eyes down in shame. "I think I am jealous," she whispered. "But I do not know of what. There was no love between Aimee and you, yet I feel like she possessed you in a way that I could never." Shining eyes met his claret ones again. "I cannot say I love you because you will never say it back. But you are everything to me. You have been my father, my mother, my teacher, my guardian. And I will forever be grateful. I know that my mother has paid my debt to you, but I think I shall try to give you more."_

"_You do not owe me any such debt. It is true that your mother paid a very high price to secure your safety, and I do not regret taking that from her. But to say that you are nothing more than a contract to me is absurd." The demon hugged the child closer, damning his better judgment, and breathed in the silken scent of her gold curls. "I know what love is...and that as a demon, I cannot feel it. It is the punishment for those of us who went against God. But you are very dear to me, whether I wanted it or not."_

_Cybille pressed a kiss to his smooth cheek and slid out of his lap. "I feel much better now, Mon Rene. Aimee has gone to buy things so I should go make breakfast for Lucien."_

_He nearly asked how she knew that Aimee had left the house, since they had been in his room the entire night, but he merely nodded at her. Standing stiffly, he stretched a bit, then pulled at the laces of his shirt to tighten the neck of it, suddenly very self-conscious of himself. Running his fingers through his hair to put it into some semblance of order, the demon studied his books for another moment, picking out a few to go over with the children for their lessons for the day. He would have to keep an eye on Lucien, he thought, shutting his bedroom door behind him. It was good that the boy had more than brotherly affection for Cybille, but it wasn't necessary that he act on that affection against Cybille's will. Finally, a predicament he would have to give some thought to, he pondered fondly. There had not been a predicament at all in a very long time._

_**A/N: If anyone reading this actually speaks French, I humbly apologize if I am butchering the language. Anyway, thank you for reading! Reviews are Hugs! Hug me! ^.^**  
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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji, it's characters, or any plot references herein. I humbly thank each one of you who has reviewed/added/favorited this story so far. When I open up my e-mail and see a notice about it, I get happy in my pants. And out of them, too. Thank ya'll so much for following me this far. There probably won't be many more chapters after this, I'm getting ready to start wrapping it all up. This little plot-bunny has already gotten outta hand. I meant for it to be two, maybe three chapters, tops, but then my inner novelist said I needed to thicken the plot a bit. My inner novelist is also quite the pervy-perv so there will probably be a lemon in the future. Anyway, here be chapter six, Enjoy!**

"You are telling me, that as a small child, this girl could see your true form...and that after all these years, you've hidden it from me, your _master_?" Ciel demanded, somewhat scandalized.

"It wasn't as if I could prevent it, my young lord. Cybille's gift of sight gave her the ability to see through many facades. She chose to see the best in everything around her, so my true form did nothing to frighten her. I'm not certain anything ever frightened her at all."

"So, you're telling me, that seeing you for what you are would frighten _me_?" Ciel all but spat, clearly perturbed, but for what reason, he was not certain, himself.

"Young master, are you quite all right? Your little fit sounds something akin to a jealous tantrum... As I've said before, I'm a butler. I can´t let my master see the form that speaks badly of my reputation."

Ciel threw his hands down on the desk before him. "How dare you? Are you teasing me, Demon?"

"Actually, I am. Would you like me to continue the story or not?" Sebastian replied, a telling smirk playing on his lips.

Knowing that he would just as soon walk away and never speak of his past again unless _ordered_ made Ciel shrink back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding curtly. It was beyond him to _order_ such a thing—like a child demanding a bed-time story. So he would play Sebastian's game, because it was more entertaining than anything that had occurred since he'd awoken a demon like his butler.

Without waiting for Ciel's offer, Sebastian ceased the pacing he had taken up while reminiscing and seated himself on the more comfortable settee rather than the wing-back chair he had previously occupied. He looked strange to Ciel, reclining there, sans tailcoat, as if he was actually at ease for the first time since he'd appeared before the Phantomhive heir. Ciel fought back a snicker at the mental image he suddenly conjured of the butler, a ram-rod sticking straight up his ass. It _was_ how he conducted himself ninety-nine percent of the time. But seeing him there, positively _relaxed_ deflated the young demon's ego and he wondered if getting these memories out in the open somehow relieved the older demon. Ciel did have an idea where all this was going, and if so, he could imagine that confessing the tale to the only other entity around that may understand him would bring somewhat of a breath of relief. With no more preamble, the demon closed his eyes briefly and focused his thoughts, picking up where he'd left off.

_Every night after supper, Cybille would creep back to the demon's room, where the drill of Tarot card meanings and spreads and outcomes would occur. Within a week, the little vixen could read them like a gypsy. It was as if she had been born with the cards in her hand, the meanings etched into her psyche like she had never _not_ known what they all meant. She never went anywhere without the cards, either, keeping them safe in their pouch and tucked in her reticule at all times of the day. By the next year, just after her thirteenth birthday, she had old women trailing through the residence, paying her little bits of money for readings. It wasn't as if she _needed_ the money, of course. She tucked it away in an old milk tin for "emergencies". The demon watched all this with delight; hiding himself from the old women, peeping around the doorway into the parlor where Cybille would do her readings. On nicer days, she would take them to the courtyard, warning Lucien to keep his distance lest he distract her customers. He would laugh and take it in stride, usually seeking out the demon to watch her from afar, as well. _

_There was one particular middle-aged woman that came around about once a week. She was a superstitious ninny who had passed the marrying-age and the demon figured she hoped that Cybille would pop out a man for her from her deck. However, she paid Cybille more than any of the other old women and the young girl put aside the snide remarks the lady occasionally made concerning her apparently mixed heritage. The comments became more and more frequent as the weeks wore on and Cybille had yet to produce a satisfactory reading for the woman. One afternoon, the demon had to hold himself in check when the woman remarked in an apologetic tone, "You poor dear, to inherit such nappy hair; isn't there anything your maid can do about that for you?"_

_In truth, Cybille's hair was excruciatingly well cared for and worn in fashionably tight curls about her face, left to hang loose in the back. It was the color of raw honey, and felt like the highest-quality silk. Lucien had been "peeping" with him that day, and as he made to storm through the french-doors and out toward the patio, the demon seized him by the elbow and spun the adolescent around. "This is Cybille here. She can handle the woman on her own," he seethed, wondering himself why the witch's jibe had hit him so close to an organ he wasn't aware he still possessed._

"_Aimee is not my maid, Mademoiselle. She is closer to my mother," Cybille began. "I was raised here with no real parentage and although I am sure my mother was a slave of mixed heritage herself, the best she could do for me was make certain I had a chance in life with these good people. So if I am to receive your spiteful jabs for inheriting my mother's _beautiful_ curls..." she smiled sweetly, "I do not foresee why I should continue servicing you as such."_

"_Why, you malicious little bitch. I should take back every cent I've given you for this ridiculous service! You have bewitched me into a devil's game of cards, and I've come back over and over, under your spell!" the woman cried out, making to stand as Cybille calmly left the wrought-iron table. She was still there, ranting away into thin air when Cybille returned, lugging the milk tin full of money back with her. She dropped it at the woman's feet and plopped her little hands on her hips._

"_There was no bewitching, and certainly no spells, Mademoiselle. Here's every cent I've made and if it will shut you up, you can have it."_

_Lucien clapped his hand over his mouth to keep back the bark of laughter, and surprising himself, the demon did the same. Claret eyes widening over the bold little vixen's actions, he held himself in check once again from rushing out to expel the raving madwoman._

_There was no need, of course, for the homely thirty-something showed herself out, leaving Cybille's milk tin exactly where it had been dropped. Not ten seconds after her departure, however, the girl's eyes began to well with tears and she stood there, in the center of the courtyard, sun pouring over her head like a golden waterfall. Lucien went to bolt the door after the woman and the demon, feeling a tug in his chest, made his way out to the patio. She hugged her slender arms about herself, head tilted back as if challenging the sky to say anything to her for weeping._

"_You cannot take her words to heart, ma chere," he stated simply, reaching out as he neared her, and she threw herself against him, tears soaking through his shirt and waistcoat. Her arms snaked about his waist and he realized he'd lost count of the times she'd made him wonder if he really was heartless. Pressing his gloved hands to her curls on either side of her face, he knelt down so that he was just barely looking up at her. "She is a vindictive woman, balding and homely. She is jealous that you are growing into the very beauties that have succeeded her all her life."_

"_She was not balding," Cybille half-sniffled, half-smirked, a gentle smile beginning to light her face once more. "But definitely homely."_

"_You cannot let her kind belittle you. In a few very short years, hearts will be all aflutter about you, and she will hate you even more. Many will hate you, I'm sure; your gift of sight and your appearance will make some bow before you, but others will be vehemently jealous and do their best to harm your reputation."_

"_I know."_

"_Of course you do. And inasmuch as you know that, you know whom you can and cannot trust. You must have seen this conniption fit before it happened..."_

"_I did, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I hoped it would be prevented. Sometimes my visions are...blurry," she admitted._

"_Then we should try focusing them. The cards are helping somewhat, though, yes?"_

"_Only for other people. I cannot see my own future very well. It is as though I am peering at it through blown glass. Wavy and wild..." she sighed. "I cannot explain it very well."_

"_We shall work on it. There are a number of things we can try. I'll study it a bit and you'll meet me after supper."_

_Cybille nodded as the demon stood once more, patting the top of her head affectionately. He graced her with a rare smile and slipping his finger beneath her chin, leveled her gaze to his. Sliding a handkerchief from his pocket her dried the tear-tracks from her face and pocketed the linen again. "Until later, then, ma chere." Delivering a sweeping gallant bow, and making her giggle for his efforts, he disappeared._

"You are right about something," Ciel interrupted, shifting in his seat.

"And what is that, young master?"

"Your Cybille is very much like my Lizzie. Bold bordering on presumptuous, and yet, finds no wrong in anyone around her."

Sebastian mentally noted the "my Lizzie" and wisely held back a smirk. "Indeed. Shall I continue?"

"Please."

_Shortly after the debacle with the Tarot reading, the demon noticed a change in scent about the young girl. His time was running short with his little "family" he realized, as Cybille had just taken a step over the threshold of womanhood. It was time he explained to both the children his expectations for their future._

_Joining them for dinner, he carried on a pleasantly drab conversation while they ate, making eye contact with Aimee every so often to ensure she understood the importance of his being there. When she retreated into the kitchen to fetch their dessert, she touched him briefly on the shoulder to confirm that she knew exactly why he was present during their meal._

_Their's had become a language of glances and touches over the last few years, Aimee having grown increasingly less confident about his presence and then seemingly, re-accepting it out of the blue. She spoke to him when spoken to, and generally talked less to everyone, resigning herself somewhat from the duties of the house as Cybille became more and more efficient at performing them on her own. The demon wondered if perhaps she did not trust herself to speak, particularly to _him_, but he never questioned her motives. Cybille remained silent and docile concerning Aimee's presence, ever referring to her as her "nearly-Maman"._

_When the maid returned with the Gâteau de Sirop, the demon cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. "I know it's unusual for me to join you for supper, but there is somewhat of an urgent matter that I would like to impress upon the two of you," he began, leveling his gaze first at Lucien, then at Cybille. "In a few short years, you will be of marrying-age and you are currently without a proper fiance. As you and Lucien are not kin, but both under my tutelage and care, I am having the lawyer over tomorrow to write out a formal betrothal contract between the two of you."_

_Cybille nodded, having known that this matter would be dealt with very soon, very quickly, and certainly, very efficiently. Lucien, for whatever reason, seemed to not know what was coming and, flustered, began turning a shade of pink. "Marriage? To Cybille? She's like a sister to me!"_

_Aimee rolled her eyes. "Vous sot, we all know you've been enamored with her since you were bébés. Stop your dramatiques."_

_The tell-tale tinge of pink went from outraged to embarrassed. The demon let a grin slip over his mouth. "It is settled. I've made my announcement. Cybille, dear, do you have anything to add?"_

"_Non, Mon Rene. I've always known. Je suis votre serviteur." She delicately spooned a bite of the syrup cake into her mouth. Expressionless. Void of emotion. Aimee and Lucien did not see it, but to the demon it was as plain as day._

_Scant hours later, the girl was peeping through the crack in his bedroom door, silently begging entrance. The demon, having just returned from a bath, was slipping a loose linen shirt over his head when the door creaked open and Cybille sidled in. She had the good decency to blush at his state of undress, and she averted her eyes for the brief second that it took him to lace the shirt-front up a bit and tuck the hem into his trousers. His hands were gloveless and she felt a strange sensation on her lower belly at the sight of the pentagram tattoo on his hand. Her hand brushed over her own "birthmark" lightly, wondering at the tingling as she plopped on the side of his bed._

"_Are we to work on your focusing methods tonight?" the demon asked, taking a seat at his desk and reaching for a burgundy velvet bag on it's surface._

"_Being married to Lucien...is not something I see..." she stated instead, turning her head to meet his gaze. "I've known it was your plan all this time. I've resigned myself to it. But I know what marriage entails, and I don't think I can..."_

"_Do not think you can what, ma chere?"_

"_I cannot see myself...with Lucien..." she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I can't _be_ with him that way."_

"_Would you rather me choose a complete stranger?"_

"_I'd rather you not choose at all."_

"_Part of the contract I had with your mother was to see that you were cared for for the rest of your life. And as I cannot stay to care for you after your eighteenth birthday, I must choose someone whom I believe can handle that task. Lucien is the perfect candidate."_

"_I understand. And as I said before, if that is what you wish, I am but your humble servant."_

"_Cybille, darling, you have at least four more years to grow accustomed to the idea. I won't marry you off at sixteen like everyone else. There will not be a debutant ball or any other spangled soiree to make you uncomfortable." The demon held out his hand to her, black fingernails glinting eerily in the lamplight of the bedroom, and with a curve of his fingers, beckoned her to him. Wordlessly, she rose from his bed and drew near, pausing in front of him briefly, a sad look on her face. "Come, darling. You aren't too old for this, yet."_

_A tiny smile revealed itself as she slid into his lap, curling against him, burrowing her nose in neck. He smelled so wonderful, she thought, like spice and honeysuckle. He laced his arms about her and rested his chin atop her curls. "Marrying Lucien was one of my priorities for you, but if it still offends you when the time comes, we will think of something else," he assured, wondering to himself what the hell else there could be. He frowned, his fingers plucking absently at the lace trim at her back._

"_You could make a contract with me," Cybille mumbled, almost despite herself, not necessarily wanting that little fantasy spoken aloud._

"_Absolutely not," the demon hissed, pulling back sharply. He gripped her chin and snatched her gray gaze to his own garnet one. "If I hear you so much as _jest_ of such, I'll..."_

"_You'll what?" she asked, pulling at the hand that held her face in check. She laced her tiny fingers through his own and held his hand in her lap. "There is nothing you can do that will hurt me more than leaving me. And you will leave me in five years. I will not ask you for a contract, nor any other demon, I promise," she assured, laying her head back against his collar. "But I can wish you were here forever. It's a child's wish. So I will treasure every moment with you that I have left."_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I cannot believe the traffic this fic has generated. I am so thankful to all of you who continue to read it. Your reviews are greatly appreciated. My husband made a request however, that I cannot refuse. He insisted I kill Orihime from Bleach. When I informed him that this was not my Bleach fic-it had been finished and posted months ago-he said to find a way to make Grell "get 'er with that chainsaw of his" because that was the most fitting way to see an annoying character with too little development and too much screen time die. So, _Grell sneaks up behind the busty red head, Death-scythe poised for the attack, her utter lack of awareness making his job that much easier. "You're not fit to wear red!" he screams as he lets fall the whirring blade, directly at her skull... _Of course, now she'll probably become a Shinigami and we'll have to see her even more. *Shrugs* Oh well. I kept my promise.**

**I do not own Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji. Or Bleach.**

**Thank you guys again and remember, reviews are hugs. Hug me!**

"Somethings are becoming more and more clear to me," Ciel remarked, stretching a bit before crossing his legs at the ankles and propping them on the edge of his desk; something that Sebastian was fairly certain he'd never seen the young earl do before.

"What sorts of things might that be, my young master?" the butler inquired in his usual lilting tone.

"I am beginning to understand—maybe not _why_ you are as compassionate and lenient as you are—but at least where I believe it started. This girl, Cybille, for whatever reason, shaped you into the demon you are today. You cared so deeply for the child that it seems she made you somewhat less than a demon..."

"I assure you, my young master, that I am every bit capable of being as dark and gruesome and evil as I ever have been," Sebastian retorted with a crooked smile. "Because I choose to repress it the majority of the time does not mean, necessarily, that Cybille _shaped_ me in any fashion. Only that she perhaps made me see that there was no point in being that vile creature one-hundred percent of the time."

Ciel's face cracked into a knowing grin, but he did not reply to Sebastian's claim. "Well, then. Go on."

The older demon rolled his eyes and stood abruptly, resuming his pacing.

_It was the following morning at breakfast, when Cybille perched herself on the demon's knee at the table that Aimee informed him that Cybille most certainly _was_ too old to cavort about as such. Cybille pouted, but moved, seating herself in a chair next to Rene; the action didn't make a difference to the demon one way or another. He didn't frown upon her need for 'petting' as Aimee put it, because it made the girl comfortable. But he also knew, that perhaps, she _had_ outgrown the ability to plop in his lap without raising some suspicions. She was still a slip of a girl, and she still sneaked into his room every night to curl in his bed—whether he was in it or not—because she was plagued with nightmares of fiery wastelands and souls in torment. He had wondered on more than one occasion if her visions of hell had anything to do with her semi-contract with him. It was a riddle not easily solved, so he did not linger on the idea for more than a moment at a time._

_As they finished the morning meal and he rose to retrieve books for the children's lessons, he heard Aimee pull Cybille off to the side of the kitchen and whisper harshly, "You are not a child anymore, ma chere! We had this conversation naught but yesterday... You cannot go about falling into _his_ lap and you _most certainly_ should not be sneaking into his room to sleep anymore, either!"_

_Cybille nodded sullenly, turning away to help Aimee clean up the dishes. "I'll finish in here, Cybille. Go do your studies."_

"_Oui, Aimee." She all but skulked out of the kitchen towards the courtyard to wait on Rene and Lucien._

_The demon returned a moment later, a few books tucked neatly beneath his arm, but no Lucien in tow. "Where is Lucien, Rene?" Cybille asked, taking the books and settling in one of the wrought-iron chairs, carefully tucking her feet beneath her as she sat._

"_I've sent him on an errand," the demon replied simply, seating himself across from the girl and shuffling through the pages of one of the books, searching for the point he had left off on the day before._

"_What errand?" she prodded, since she was normally the one he sent on errands and it was more than a little irritating to be left out of the loop where Rene Corbeau was concerned._

"_Nothing pressing... I sent him to tell the lawyer we wouldn't be needing his services today."_

_Cybille's eyes widened considerably as she studied the man across the table. "Won't need his services...?"_

"_After the conversation we had last night, I assumed you'd like to wait concerning your betrothal contract, so I sent Lucien to inform the lawyer that we would call on him about the matter later... Perhaps in a year or so?" he explained with a knowing grin._

_The news was exactly what she needed to hear; a toothy grin appeared on her face and she dove over the table to embrace the demon. "Mon Rene! Merci! Merci beaucoup!"_

"_Not at all, darling," he mumbled into her hair. "Anything to make my lady happy. Now calm yourself, lest Aimee think the worst of us out here."_

"_Sorry," Cybille muttered, folding herself into the chair again, smile as wide as ever._

"I stand by my first assumption. Cybille softened you. Whether you will admit it or not," Ciel stated flatly, eye leveled on the butler a few feet away.

"I suppose you are right to an extent. I never acted the same with previous contracts, and I have not been so ..._soft_ since. She made me realize that being human was not as mundane and loathsome as I once thought. I think on many levels, she had me convinced that I _was_ human..." a frown passed over the immaculate features of Sebastian's face and his eyes darkened when he met Ciel's again. "I replay these memories over and over, yet saying them all aloud certainly brings somethings to light."

"Forget Cybille for a moment then; tell me about New Orleans. What is the city like?"

Sebastian shook his head, as if clearing the cobwebs from his mind. "That city...is like no other city I've ever seen. The weather is insane. The inhabitants often even more so. The air is thick with humidity and the heat during the summer will paralyze a human being. Many times I saw it rain on sunny days and other times it would grow so overcast the sun became a fond memory. There is an uncommon mix of people populating the place; the ones from French mixed heritages became the backbone of the population, called Creoles. The architecture is beautiful, Spanish-lace wrought-iron balconies and French dormer windows popping from roof-tops, overgrown courtyards peeping from behind iron fences. The scent of magnolias in spring will very nearly choke you..."

"You speak so fondly of this place," Ciel interrupted. "Have you been back?"

"No. I haven't set foot on those cobbled streets in a nearly century."

Ciel bit his tongue before he could ask Sebastian if he would _like_ to go back. Perhaps at the end of the butler's tale...then the question could be asked. Ciel thought he would very much like to see the place.

_Cybille figured that whatever Aimee didn't know couldn't hurt her, so she continued to sneak into the demon's room every night, however innocently she believed it was; even the demon began to question the propriety of the act when thirteen became fourteen, became fifteen and so on, as Cybille changed from a slip of a girl into a wanton exotic beauty. At sixteen, he barred her from his room. It broke her heart, of course, but he didn't know how to explain that, though he had watched her grow from babe to young woman, he was still a man and she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever lain eyes on. Perhaps it would have been easier, if only she had called him "papa". But, he thought, maybe not...it would have only been slightly more twisted than his usual inclinations._

_One night, those steel-gray eyes peered through the crack in his door, waiting for him to acknowledge her, because she knew that creeping in against his wishes would disappoint him and that was an unpardonable sin in her eyes. He looked up from the book he was reading and nodded, admitting her entrance._

"_I know it is late, Mon Rene...and I know that you will not allow me to sleep in here anymore. But what am I to do? I close my eyes and see horrors..." She remained in the doorway, daring not to venture any farther in. The demon wondered if she had realized exactly _why_ she wasn't allowed to share his bed any more._

"_Do something to take your mind off it until you fall asleep again. I'm afraid I've spoiled you, and I'm sorry for that-"_

"_I think you may have..." she agreed with a tiny smile. "But who could argue? Your presence, for whatever reason, made me sleep peacefully."_

"_I did not say I regretted it," he assured her, standing and beckoning her to him. Her smile grew wider as she fell against him; his hugs were the thing she treasured most in life because they were rare._

"I've realized something," Ciel said, readjusting his bottom in the chair and leaning over the desk.

"What is that, my young lord?"

"This whole time, you've been telling me this story as if you were a spectator; not the character around which everyone revolves. I haven't questioned that. But now I understand _why_ you've been telling it this way."

"And would you care to enlighten me, then, Master?" Sebastian quipped, beginning to grow weary of Ciel's interruptions.

"It hurts you. Since you've begun, you've displayed more emotions on your impassive face than I knew you were capable of showing. But these memories are painful for you, even if they _are_ your most impressive ones; speaking of them as if they never involved _you_ makes the burden easier to bear."

Sebastian did not reply. He spun towards the settee and dropped into the seat. If he stopped now, it would be for the night, at _least_, and that would probably leave the demon earl in quite the ill-temper. His gaze fell to his hands as he laced his fingers together and draped them listlessly over his midsection. Instead he closed his eyes and willed the memories to the surface, driving on with the tale.

_Each year Cybille had convinced Rene to put off the betrothal for another year. Each year, he had assented to her request. Each year he wondered how much longer he could really put it off... he already had merchants' sons and gentleman callers banging on the front door, begging to court the girl—_woman,_ he continually had to correct himself. Lucien had begun prodding him behind her back to go ahead with the betrothal. It _had_ been his original intention, after all. He considered it briefly, but a promise he had made to her when she was thirteen crept back to haunt him...he would have to consult her about it, either way._

_Finding Cybille about her piano lessons in the main parlor, he lingered in the doorway for a bit studying her form. Her lithe fingers danced about the keys like a virtuoso; Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 20 in D-minor fell from her fingertips as easily as she drew breath. And how breathtaking she was, sitting there so poised, her golden hair curling about her nape, the pale yellow of her dress making her toffee skin seemed bronzed. The demon's eyes fell over her, flaring despite his deepest concerns; he swallowed thickly. Enough of that, he thought, only to have her notice his presence. Her fingers fell flat in midst of the composition as she turned to him. The chord seemed damning. His garnet gaze jumped to her steel one immediately. "Is something wrong, Mon Rene?"_

"_No, ma chere. I only wanted to talk to you for a bit. Do you mind?" he asked, sidling into the room, his footfalls echoing off the hardwood floors. He sat beside her on the piano bench as she scooted over to accommodate him._

"_It must be important. You _never_ interrupt lessons," she pointed out, hoping against hope that he wasn't there because of her betrothal contract._

"_It's your betrothal contract."_

"_Ugh. I knew you were going to say that."_

_He leveled a blank stare at her and they both laughed. "Yes, I suppose you did."_

"_It didn't stop me from hoping I was wrong. You want me to choose now?"_

"_You have had a number of gentleman callers verily knocking down my front door to have my permission to court you. I at least wish for you to narrow down the list."_

_Cybille's grin grew wider despite herself. "And if I say I am not ready?"_

"_Then we will wait. As I promised. But you will turn seventeen next week and time is running out. Lucien wants me to have the contract signed between the two of you immediately. He is eagerly awaiting my decision."_

"_I will not marry Lucien. I will marry if you command it, but I cannot marry _him_."_

"_Pray tell, ma chere. You have uttered that over and over but you have never given me a reason."_

"_I have loved him as a brother all my life. But if you must know, he has haunted my dreams most every night. He will do something...unforgivable. And I do not know if I can prevent it."_

_The demon remembered in stark detail the time he had witnessed her nightmares first hand. He reached out and brushed a curl from her forehead, sighing as she turned her face into his palm. He had indeed spoiled her; the problem was that now she was not a child, and her flirtatious games were taking a toll on whatever conscience he possessed. He didn't think he could force her to marry. Particularly since he knew the reason was because she was in love with _him_._

"Ah, the plot thickens yet again," Ciel mumbled, standing and stretching his arms above his head. "We shall continue tomorrow. I think you were reasonably productive today, if not more so than usual, even with me as a hindrance. I will retire now."

Sebastian stood as well, falling effortlessly into the role of butler and, wordlessly dusting his jacket of wrinkles, made his way to the door of the young Phantomhive's study.

After seeing the earl properly bedded for the night, he went about his usual rounds, though truthfully, he supposed he only did it to keep himself busy. It wasn't as if the manor actually got _used_ ninety-nine percent of the time. It was mindless repetition that forced him to think of needless things, or the lighter times that he spent with his former contract when she was a child. Thinking of her all grown-up did things to his insides that he had convinced himself he no longer used. Truth be told, his heart beat, the blood coursed through his veins, he breathed, he _lived_; he was a demon, yes, but he had been taught at one time by a slip of a girl that love was not beyond even the likes of him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: OK, kiddies, this one gets a bit...graphic at the end. Not too terrible, but I'm giving fair warning. I do not own Kurshitsuji/Black Butler *wish I owned Bassy, though* nor any characters, quotes, or plot references herein. We're wrapping it up, so I hope you enjoy. I only have one more chapter left to type out. I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this one... and it's been the longest yet. As quickly as I've been pumping out chapters, it's been one of the most difficult stories I've done. Thank you all again for your wonderful reviews!**

Sebastian stood in front of the heavy draperies in the library, transfixed on the deep blue jacquard's pattern. He hated to admit it, but the boy had been right. Utterly, perfectly correct. Cybille _had_ softened him. He frowned. He didn't want to face the fact that the presumptuous, reckless, _snide_ little earl had managed to wriggle his way into his heart, as well. That vain child was now a part of his eternity and Cybille had left him, what seemed like eons ago, with a beating heart capable of care, devotion, and God forbid, _love_. Sebastian closed his eyes against the stinging in his chest. She had left him, not because she wanted to, but because nothing he could do would have ever made her more than mortal. She had been a human; one of those creatures he had once so detested unless, of course, he was feasting on their souls. If anyone had told him a millenia ago that a demon so steeped in sin could feel..._anything_...he would have cackled. But he stood there, one hand gripping the fabric of the curtain before him, trying his _damnedest_ to put on an impassive face. If he could do it for the world around him, how could he not do it for himself?

_He found Lucien pacing the floor in the piano room. "It is late. What are you still doing up?" he asked blandly, knowing _precisely_ why the seventeen year old was both up, and in such a temper._

"_She has not signed the betrothal contract," he stated simply, spinning on his heel to face the demon. "It should have been done _four years ago! _She _will_ have me. She has no choice."_

"_Lucien, calm yourself. I will not force her to marry anyone. It was a priority then; priorities change. She is capable of making her own decisions."_

"_You have always favored her..." he began, but fell short on his accusal._

"_I have had an obligation to her. It was my sworn duty to see that she was cared for and provided for-for the rest of her life. It was natural that I favored her. You and your mother simply found yourselves in my care by a sheer twist of fate."_

"_Ever the blunt one, aren't you?" Lucien replied, plopping unceremoniously on the piano bench behind him._

"_I have cared for you. I have given you everything you have ever wanted. You are financially set for the remainder of your existence. Why must you have Cybille, too?"_

"_I've always wanted her. When we were children, I loved her. How could I not? But she has ever fawned over _you_—the immortal caretaker. What infuriates me is that she's never hidden it. She was in love with you from the day she was born. And because you are...whatever you _are_...you have remained perfect for her, waiting for her to grow into an equally perfect woman for you."_

"_And as unchanging as I am you must know I cannot have her, either. She will grow old and die. I will not. That isn't fair for her."_

"_You would refuse her? Cybille, who has been the center of your universe for the past seventeen years?"_

_The demon sighed—a deep, self-loathing and ragged sigh, and shook his head. "I would have to."_

_Lucien nodded. "Then you must force her to sign the contract. I know you have had it drawn up for all this time. You need only to have the lawyer notarize it for validity."_

"_I will talk to her..."_

"_If that is all you will do, then I will talk to her as well. Perhaps she will see the importance of it if she is not looking at _your_ face." Lucien surged off of the bench, his footfalls echoing loudly throughout the main house. The demon was glad Aimee kept her rooms in the servants' quarters over the unattached kitchen. If she had heard the commotion, she would have had a conniption-fit._

_He lingered there in the parlor, pacing a bit over the dilemma, then threw himself rather dispassionately on the velvet-upholstered settee in the corner. He had never cared much for velvet, he thought as he pulled off a customary glove and scratched at the strange material beneath him. It felt very nearly like fur, tickling behind his fingernails and soothing oil-like over the pads of his fingertips._

_Shaking his head, he replaced the glove and stood. He would speak to Cybille in the morning about the betrothal contract one last time. If she refuted it again, he would simply tell Lucien to find another woman to marry. Crossing his arms about his chest, he made his way back to his room._

_He had barely closed the door behind him when he heard the raised voices, the resounding slap, and the two sets of footsteps heading in opposite directions. The hard-soled shoes of the boy were stomping toward the front door; the soft padded footfalls of bare feet were coming his way. They stopped abruptly at his bedroom door, then with no knock to speak of, the door reeled open with a fury and slammed behind the young woman now standing in front of it. Her cheeks were flush, her hands clenched in little white-knuckled fists at her sides. The demon half-expected her to stomp her foot in frustration as children were wont to do._

"_That vain, puff-shirted, son of a ...Non, I cannot call Aimee such," she fumed to herself, raising her eyes to meet the blank stare of crimson studying her from across the room._

_The demon blinked. "Puff-shirted?"_

"_Oh, shut up. Did you put him up to this?"_

"_I honestly have no idea what is going on."_

"_He..." she took a deep breath and flexed her hands at her sides. "He barged into my room, stole the book straight from my hands, and promptly began to lecture me on his 'fine' qualities and _why_ it would 'behoove' me to sign that damned betrothal contract. He said that he was the only choice I had left and if I were not such a vapid, _delusional_ woman, I would see that!"_

_The demon's eye twitched. "He did _what_?"_

"_If he thinks this is going to make me see _reason_, then he is sorely mistaken..." she mumbled something in French that he couldn't quite make out, but he was reasonably certain the distasteful action she proclaimed was centered around Lucien's genitalia._

"_What did you say to him?" he asked, pulling off his gloves and tossing them neatly onto the desktop to his right. He noticed suddenly that Cybille had not thrown on her dressing robe when she'd stormed out of her room and the lamplight in his chambers was casting delightful shadows over her form. His mouth was suddenly very dry. He went to her anyway, carefully wrapping his arms about her trembling shoulders, and drawing her face against his chest in a supportive embrace._

"_I told him if he was so hell-bent on having a woman, there were plenty a few blocks down that he could pay for the experience."_

_He almost laughed. "And?"_

"_And he..." a soft sigh against his chest, "he tried to kiss me."_

_She turned her face into his collar, absentmindedly shaking her head back and forth. "Was that your reason for striking him, then?" the demon pondered at her silence. She lifted her head abruptly, the tip of her up-turned nose brushing the underside of his chin at the action. He gasped despite himself, finding her so close...too close; he could smell the chicory on her breath from the coffee she'd had after supper. She had the sense to blush as she turned away, but he grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger and forced her to meet his gaze once again. "You slapped him for trying to kiss you?"_

_She nodded slightly, her eyes silvery in the lamplight as she glanced down demurely. She drew a shuddering breath, face still captive by his hand. "He grabbed my shoulder, forced me to him. I slapped him. I told him I could not marry him..." her eyes turned back to his, startled to see them burning as if a fire had been lit behind his irises. He couldn't help himself. She stirred within him a desire that had never before been rivaled by any other being, human or demon. "He bruised me."_

_The demon released his grip on her chin, delicately brushing the back of his fingers down the length of her smooth neck to the neckline of her gown. He pinched the lace trim between his fingers and pulled it down over her shoulder, revealing a darkening bruise, the size of a man's hand. If he had stopped to think about what he was doing, he never would have leaned down. He wouldn't have bent his head to her bare flesh. He most certainly would not have brushed his lips over the wound, drawing a breathy sigh from her full mouth. He closed his eyes against the sensation. He could _taste_ her...he could smell the shea butter she had used after her bath; he snapped his head back up, instantly regretting opening _that_ door. "I shouldn't have done that."_

"_Probably not," Cybille replied, straightening her gown. She reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand. "But I didn't mind."_

"_That's the problem. Go back to bed, darling. I will handle Lucien in the morning." He stepped backwards—away from the temptation of her presence, her smell, her _taste_. He threw himself rather forcibly into his desk chair and spun away from her._

"_Mon Rene..."_

_His only reply was a gruff "Hmph."_

"_Good night, then," she mumbled, confused, elated, and everything in between._

_He waited till he heard the door to her bedroom click closed and stood again, snatching his gloves from the desk and slipping them back on; headed out of the townhouse to find Lucien. The bruise he had put on Cybille infuriated him to no end and he would beat the boy when he found him. He had a sneaking suspicion that Lucien had done _exactly_ what Cybille had told him to do—there was a tavern a few blocks down as she claimed that did not halt its services at ale._

_The demon made it exactly half way to his intended destination when his better judgment—unhindered by the sight or smell of the beautiful victim—pushed its way through his reasonably thick skull. Turning on his heel, he headed back home. If he did indeed find Lucien, he was very likely to kill him and that would most certainly be frowned upon by both Cybille and the boy's mother. The young man simply would not be a match for him with his mortal speed and strength, and Rene Corbeau was so furiously enraged that he had dared to bruise the lady in question, he knew that he may not be able to reign in his wrath with a mere punch. He _could_ have the boy forcibly cloistered at the monastery, he thought, as he entered the foyer and locked the door behind him. But he detested monasteries and that action might require him to actually step foot in one—something he was not certain he was physically capable of, now that he thought about it. No, he would let his blood cool until morning. When the boy reappeared, hung-over and hopefully sated of his lust, he would pull him outside and feed him a fair mix of threats and warnings; first of which would be, no matter how he improved, he had permanently lost his claim of Cybille's hand in marriage when he touched her so abusively._

_He walked past his own bedroom and straight to Cybille's, standing outside her door for a moment, listening for signs that she had retired at last. He heard a slight shuffling, perhaps the sound of her tarot cards as if she were reorganizing them for a reading; then a soft thump and the creak of the four-poster as she settled in her bed. Hoping that she would sleep soundly and without her typical plethora of night-terrors, he turned back the other way to go to his own room. He hadn't made it two solid steps when he heard her lilting voice on the other side._

"_I know you are there, Mon Rene."_

"_Damn her clairvoyance," he muttered under his breath. He didn't move._

"_I am in bed as a good girl should be. Would you come in and tell me a story?"_

_A ragged sigh escaped his lips. "And damn her flirtations..." His gloved hand was on the door handle before he realized he'd even moved. He knew as soon as he entered the room, nothing would be the same again. He was about to make a pivotal move with the most important piece of his chess board. And he hadn't really even begun to play chess..._

_He levered the door handle and stepped inside, greeted by the sight of a tousled goddess as she reclined against her pillows, her honey curls spread all about her head like an angelic halo; her nightgown rumpled and laid against the hollows of her curves, making her shape beneath it all the more apparent. The hem of the gown had snagged on her coverlet as she'd climbed into bed, and as such, the entire length of one toffee-colored and very shapely leg was exposed to his view. He knew his eyes were flaring. He could not hide the hunger that she evoked in him. She had her head turned toward him, her heavy-lidded eyes glinting like steel in the low lamplight._

"_When I did my reading before I went to bed, I pulled The Lovers, The Emperor, and The Devil. What kind of bedtime story does that get me?" she teased, her voice nearly cracking from the nerve she was displaying. This sort of behavior was certainly not Cybille's norm; but she would have him if it was the last thing she ever did._

_The demon had resigned himself to his fate. If he was completely honest with himself, he would admit that he loved her—as it stood, he wanted her and he knew there was no turning back. "The Lovers would mean that a pact is to be made. A decision is necessary and I see you've made it..." he walked closer to the bed, step by slow step, nearing the side where she lay. "The Emperor refers to a powerful and generous protector..." He leaned down over her, pulling his gloves off one hand, then the other, and tossing them on the small writing table against the wall. There was a flash of some deep emotion in her dark eyes when she saw the pentagram on the back of his hand; he saw her own hand reflexively grasp the fabric over the identical mark on her lower belly. Placing his hands on either side of her head, he closed the gap between them, his cool breath tickling her lips as he spoke. "The Devil..." he brushed his lips against hers with a feathery touch, "is enchantment, fascination, and sexual attraction," he breathed, and her breath hitched in her throat when she finally felt his firm lips cover her own, a sensation she had dreamed of for a very long time. He pulled away slightly to meet her gaze and gripped her stubborn chin between his fingers. "You cannot change your mind after this. I will hurt you very deeply," he whispered, the confliction evident in his voice—whether it was for the pain he was about to cause her physically, or for the fact that he would be called back into the void after his contract had ended, neither one of them were sure._

_She pulled the hand away from her face and laced her fingers through his; turning it over, she placed a gentle kiss on the contract mark. "I once told you that I'd never say 'I love you'," she stated softly, sliding her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulling his face closer once more. "I lied."_

_With a groan borne of pent-up frustration and longing, the demon crushed his lips to hers, leveling himself above her and gently resting his weight against her lithe body. She arched into him as his tongue snaked into her mouth, her hands trailing fiery tendrils down his open shirt-front and scratching lightly at the muscles beneath the linen. He broke away abruptly, snapping upright and tearing the shirt off over his head. Tossing it in the floor, he looked down at his goddess as she studied his form._

_She had glimpsed him when she was younger, and truthfully nothing about him had changed in any way, but he was so much more fascinatingly beautiful to her now than he had been before. His alabaster skin glowed in the low light; his body looked as if it had been carved from marble. Lean and angular and well-muscled despite his lay-about lifestyle...tentatively Cybille reached up, sliding a single fingertip over the sharp jut of his hip just above the waistband of his trousers. The demon groaned again and fell over her, fitting himself to the curves of her body once more._

_Sliding her fingers through his unkempt black hair, Cybille pulled him closer, reveling a bit in his honeysuckle breath before pressing her lips to his again. Peeking through her lowered lids, she saw the fire in his eyes flare when she tentatively slid her tongue along his lower lip, testing her boundaries. She always was a quick study. She wanted to know what drove him mad—the actions that would reduce him from an all-knowing demon to a trembling man. Slowly and deliberately, she lifted her exposed leg, dragging it delicately up the soft fabric of his trousers and hooked it over his hip, using that to draw him even closer. The process brought him in full contact with her hips and his rigid arousal was evident as it pressed into the apex of her thighs. Cybille let loose a low moan with the contact, arching her back so that the pressure was exactly where she wanted. The demon growled, long and low in the back of his throat at the sensation, forcibly holding himself in check lest he rend her gown and rape her. This was going to be the most wonderfully difficult trial he had ever faced, he thought, grinding against her to watch the color flush her face and feel her body shiver beneath his._

_Wrapping his fingers behind her bent knee, he swept his palm slowly up the length of her thigh, fingers kneading the flesh as it went; his eyes carefully studying every fleeting emotion as it fluttered over her face. She gasped when he cupped her bottom, turning his fingers in toward her sex, teasing the flesh so close to the center of her torment. His mouth captured hers again to muffle the cries that were sure to come. The last thing he needed was Aimee barging into the bedroom to find them both in such an unexplainable situation, even if the maid wasn't likely to hear them as it was._

_Cybille's hands went reflexively to his shoulders, nails digging for purchase into his flesh as he teased her; she tore her mouth away and buried her face against his neck when he cupped her sex, sliding his palm against her at first, testing his own boundaries; he slowly eased a finger in, then another, delighted at the blushing mass of writhing woman beneath him. If she would have him—if she could _love_ him—then he would make this the most memorable moment of her adult life._

When the sun peeped over the horizon, its rays piercing the gap between the jacquard curtains and striking the butler across his face, he started; he hadn't intended to stand there, unproductive, reminiscing, the entire night. Indeed, these were memories best not shared with the young earl. He claimed to want to know everything, but _everything_ was far beyond his current years of comprehension. Sebastian knew that Ciel understood what transpired between a man and woman, but he was still so young that he need not hear every detail of what transpired between Cybille DeMoreau and who he was a century ago...Rene Corbeau. The demon butler closed his eyes against the onslaught of morning and pulled the draperies open to let in the flood of light. Turning on his heel, he checked his faithful pocket-watch, eying the timepiece with scrutiny. He had some time before he need wake the young master. And seeing as there was no human about to prepare breakfast or tea for, he made his way to his own room for a bit. Perhaps for the first time in a very, very long time, he could sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Here's the last chapter, y'all. This story has been one helluva project to write, even as short as it is. I can't thank you all enough for all your praise and awesome reviews. I'm gonna warn you ahead of time: There's kind of a cliffhanger. If anyone feels like they can pick this story up and do for Ciel and Lizzie something like what I've done for Sebastian, please do. I would like to see it continued, but I simply don't have the time to keep going. Thank you again, guys, and ENJOY!**

**I own nothing. Please don't sue me ^.^  
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Sebastian lay unmoving in his bed, the white sheets gathered around him; to an onlooker he would appear a corpse. The only outward sign was the rapid movements of his garnet eyes behind their closed lids as he dreamed. He dreamed of Cybille and the time they had together before his passing; he dreamed of Aimee and the beignets he so wanted to be able to taste. He dreamed of Ciel and Elizabeth, and even that the two of them had met Cybille. Elizabeth would have been besotted with her, he was sure, just as Cybille would have adored the bubbly little blonde... He dreamed and that was one of the things he, as a demon, was certain he could not do. Then again, the umber-skinned woman with whom he'd been intimately acquainted had taught him that even as a demon, he had a heart. And as a demon, why would he lose the ability to dream, and not to hold someone dear?

_The morning after their bout of love-making was spent in relative silence; surreptitious glances thrown at one another, giggles from Cybille at his stern appearance. He was trying to hide the emotional evidence of what had occurred between the two of them; Aimee would probably not be shocked by the recent events, but she would more than likely be infuriated by them. It wasn't as if he was inclined to act like a giddy teenager in love, but seeing Cybille across the breakfast table, combing through her tresses with her fingers to get the tangles out that _he_ had put there—or noting that she wore her prudish high-necked church dress to hide the marks that _he_ had left on her throat and breasts—made him feel somewhat possessive and masculine and brutish. She was _his_ and though he had cared for Lucien as a child, the pompous little shit would never have her now._

_Lucien had returned late in the morning, hung-over and "pissy" as his mother had called him, begging for coffee and Cybille's forgiveness. Being the kind of woman the demon believed Saints should look up to, she granted him her pardon—on the grounds that he drop his betrothal argument. He neither confirmed nor denied her, burying his nose in the coffee with a non-committal "Hm."_

_The day itself progressed as normal; Cybille would cut her eyes over her shoulder at the demon here and there, as if asking him to come to her room that night, Lucien's head seemed to be permanently glued to the kitchen table as Rene tried to coach them through their studies for the day, and Aimee hummed and cooked away as normal, keeping her thoughts and comments to herself in the corner of the kitchen. Midway through a lecture on the history of the Anglo-Saxons, Lucien's hand tentatively rose into the air, still face down on the weathered oak table._

_The demon cleared his throat mid-sentence and acknowledged him with a gruff "Hm?"_

"_Gaan I goo doe medd? I peel lie sheet..."_

"_That's your own fault, now isn't it?" the demon replied ruthlessly._

_Cybille raised a gracefully arched eyebrow in Lucien's direction. "What was that?"_

"_He asked to go to bed because he feels like shit," Rene offered helpfully, snapping the book he held closed and smacking it on the table next to Lucien's head._

_There was a distinct "Oooww" and then "Waat was dat poor?"_

"_Get out of our presence," the demon growled. His fury was escalating at Lucien's gall and utter disrespect._

_The young man wordlessly lifted himself from his seat and shuffled out of the kitchen, crossing the courtyard and entering the back of the main house, mumbling as he reached the porch. "Damn inhuman bastard...no sympathy...maman is useless against him, too..."_

"_Sympathy?" the demon huffed. "You've never shown _me _any."_

_Cybille snickered a little to herself. "Sympathy for the devil, non? Has a nice ring to it..."_

_He cocked a grin in her direction, then thumbing through the book, he found his page again. "Shall we continue?"_

_Lessons were completed, sans one hung-over student, Aimee served lunch in the courtyard, and Cybille was given a list and sent to the French Market._

Sebastian snapped upright in his bed. "Sympathy for the Devil..." With a sigh, he swung his legs over the mattress and readied himself for his duties once again.

To Sebastian's supreme surprise, Ciel was awake and sitting at the edge of his own bed when he entered the room. Mechanically, he stalked to the windows to throw open the drapes, then gathered his young masters clothes for the day and laid them out across the foot of the bed to get him ready.

"What is on our agenda for the day, Sebastian?" Ciel asked, voice gruff from unuse, rubbing his eyes absently as a sleep deprived child might do.

"Your schedule is completely open, my young lord," he replied dutifully, beginning the routine of dressing the earl.

"Good. You may continue with where you left off last night."

"Yes, my master. Where exactly _did_ I leave off, pray tell?"

"_Rene_ was having a chat with his besotted charge, I believe. About the need for her to marry, but his-_your_-inability to force her into it caused you to second guess your decision."

"Ah, yes. As I told Lucien later, her marriage was a priority at one time, but priorities do, indeed, change. In fact, Lucien and I argued rather heatedly over Cybille's betrothal contract. I had had it drawn up for a number of years, but as you know, I could not force her to sign it. Lucien assumed my hesitation was because I wanted her for myself... I suppose in a way, he was correct. I told him after our argument that I would be forced to refuse her if she _did_ make her affections known."

"But you did not," Ciel pointed out, matter-of-factly.

"No, I did not. I had what I suppose could be called a bit of an infatuation with her."

"You loved her."

Sebastian did not answer. He didn't speak for some moments. He focused instead on the snapping of the young lord's garters and the smoothing of his socks and the sliding of small feet into black leather shoes. When he finally lifted his head to face Ciel, his eyes flared with hellish flames of crimson. His voice was hoarse; barely audible. But he uttered a distinct "Yes."

Ciel nodded, unperturbed by Sebastian's appearance and answer. "You aren't any weaker for it, you know?" he stated simply, dropping to his feet and stretching a bit before walking toward the door. "It does not make you less of a demon. Perhaps, it makes you a better one. More ruthless. You know what humans have, you have _felt _it, and yet you can still take it away. I think you are stronger for it."

The flames died away along with the burning sensation behind his eyes and the strange empty pull in his heart. "I think my young master has begun to philosophize beyond his years."

Ciel "Hmph"ed at that, glancing pointedly over his shoulder at the demon butler. He waited until the door before him was opened, then headed out into the hall toward his study, butler in tow.

"After my decision to forsake Cybille's hand in marriage to any other man, I began looking for a house outside of the city where she could live in relative peace away from the overbearing presence of Lucien and the other men in the Quarter that were vying for her attentions. The poor girl could not go to the market without proposals and pretty words being thrown in her face. Her mind was made up on one singular man and it wasn't any of them, she would tell them sweetly. Truthfully, it was the threat of Lucien's reaction when he found out I had bedded her that drove me to look for another residence. It would only be a matter of time before he and Aimee knew and I intended to give them the old Faustine Townhouse and Lucien's inheritance before that happened. It wasn't long before one of _Rene's_ investors found a large cottage just outside of Belle Chasse in Plaquemines Parish—about ten kilometers or so from where we lived in the Quarter. It was far enough away from the city to deter Lucien's ill-will, I believed. Still, it was close enough for me to continue to do business inside the city proper."

_Night after night, the demon sought refuge in his lover's embrace; night after night, Lucien sneaked out of the house in search of his own amusement. He did not confront Rene again about the betrothal, perhaps taking to heart Cybille's request to let it drop in favor of her forgiveness for his transgressions. The affair went on beautifully, silently, for weeks. The ownership documents to the Belle Chasse cottage passed into the demon's possession without a hitch. Papers were drawn up for the passing of the Faustine townhouse into the hands of Lucien and his mother. Bank notes were written in the sums of Lucien's inheritance and Aimee's salary. Rene had to attend to the final deed signing at the cottage proper, so a carriage was readied and with a private good-bye to Cybille and no one else the wiser, he left late one evening with intentions to be back the following morning with movers for Cybille's things._

"It was while you were away that Cybille's horrible vision of Lucien came true," Ciel stated, his voice low with wonder and what Sebastian could only discern as fury.

"It was. I suppose he'd been stewing in guilt and rage since he'd confronted her about the betrothal and he happened to choose the only night in weeks that I hadn't been in her bed to confront her one last time.

"Apparently, he had come home from his dalliances earlier and far more drunk than usual. He tried to force himself on her..." Sebastian paused for a moment, the memory striking his own cord of rage at the thought of the boy he had provided for, cared for, _raised, _touching Cybille against her will. "He barged into her room and threw her to the bed; bruised her arms and shoulders and breasts. Cybille had a heavy cedar jewel-chest on her nightstand. She managed to bring it over his head with enough force to render him unconscious."

"When I am in danger, you know it because of our contract. I know your contract with Cybille was less direct, but did you have no sense that she was at risk?"

"As I leaned down to sign the deed of the Belle Chasse house, my contract mark burned. I knew something had happened. I rushed home immediately. I found her sprawled in her bed, Lucien's limp body covering hers and my anger flared so brightly that I shifted into my true form. It was only for a brief moment as I evaluated the situation and when I realized that Cybille wasn't... violated, I appeared human again. Unfortunately, Lucien had just regained consciousness when it happened, so the sight of me was a bit difficult for him to...grasp."

"Poor bastard. I almost feel sorry for him."

"You shouldn't, I assure you. The fear that passed over his features and the speed with which he left the room were both paramount. I'm almost positive the boy _levitated._"

Ciel laughed. "But do you think that him seeing your true form was punishment enough for the misdeeds he had premeditated for your woman?"

"No. But Cybille would not have let me punish him any further. We were leaving as it was, there was no reason to leave Aimee any more strife in our wake."

"True enough. What became of them after you left?"

"Aimee died shortly after. She fell ill and Lucien found her wasted away in her bed; probably the plague. Lucien never did much of anything with himself, save to squander the fortune I had left him and his mother on liquor and whores. The townhouse fell into ill repair and I bought it back from him years later as he lay on his own death bed with consumption. He did apologize for allowing himself to go the way he had; he knew that he had been a disappointment to me and he wanted the house to be refurbished just as it had been when he and Cybille were children. I had to have it virtually gutted and rebuilt after he was dead. It's still there; in the Quarter. I wonder sometimes if I should go back to check on things."

"Rene Corbeau still owns that house? Wouldn't it be hard to explain your ownership after a century?"

"No, I'd simply claim to be a descendant. It's not as if I don't still have the deeds."

"Why haven't you? I would like to go with you," Ciel mumbled, almost despite himself.

"I suppose because it would stir up so many memories. Not that this little 'chat' we've been having hasn't done that already. I imagine it may indeed be time to go home; check on what I left behind."

"And Cybille? What happened to her?"

A distant smile creased the demon butler's eyes, but never reached his mouth. "I married her."

If Ciel had not had his bottom in his desk chair, it would have hit the plush carpet beneath him. His knees went weak. His vision whirled. He was in the most dense state of shock he had ever been in. He actually stuttered. "Wh-what?"

"I married her. It was a far cry from a legal Christian ceremony, but it was all that mattered to her. A Voodoo priestess married us in the garden behind the Belle Chasse cottage."

Just when Ciel's mind began to clear from the fog of surprise, he was forced to pick his jaw up from the top of his desk...

"It was only the right thing to do, seeing as Cybille's belly was swollen with child."

Sebastian chuckled to himself as Ciel's one visible eye rolled backward into its socket. "Oh, dear, have I shocked you past propriety, my young lord?"

"You've shocked me past absolutely anything I've ever even _remotely_ conceived..." Ciel whimpered, sinking down into the plush chair and covering his face with his hands. "I never thought it possible..."

"That a human could bear children with a demon? Possible, yes. Common, no. What are demons but fallen angels? 'And it came to pass that the Sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose... and the Sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.'"

"Genesis, verse six, is it? I suppose I really should not be surprised by anything you spring on me anymore. You've gotten more and more incorrigible over the years."

"I believe you are correct, my master. As it was, though, Cybille had contrived a plan. A contract would keep me on this plain of existence. No where was it written that the contract had to be for the _consumption_ of a soul—only the _possession._ In marriage, husband and wife pledge their hearts—and their _souls—_to one another. A different kind of contract, yes, but efficient enough to allow us to play out our little ill-fated game. It only mattered to me that I would lose her indefinitely one day. Whether it was on her eighteenth birthday or when she could no longer bear the sight of me—always young as she withered away with age. I preferred to leave on her terms... Unfortunately that didn't happen."

"On who's terms _did_ you leave?" Ciel asked, suspecting the answer, but dreading it all the same.

"God's. Fate's. Call it what you will. Her body was not strong enough for the demon seed I had planted within her. Perhaps you could say that it was I who killed her. My Cybille. My _wife_."

Sebastian turned away from Ciel for a moment, fists clutched at his sides, and Ciel wondered if his eyes flamed that hellish red when he cried. There was a deep breath; a sigh. White gloved hands went to face for a scant second as the evidence was wiped away. He turned back to Ciel, composure perfect, eyes garnet, fake smile in place.

"Now that you've heard the story, I wish to present my question to you. As I stated when we began, I do not necessarily care if you answer _me_, per se. I only want you to examine your own emotions and catalogue them as is relevant."

"What is your question, Sebastian?"

"Knowing how my tale has ended, what are you going to do about Mistress Elizabeth?"


End file.
